lij: 


178E 


• 


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THE 

ALBATROSS  NOVELS 

By  ALBERT  ROSS 
23  Volumes 

May  be  had  wherever  books  are  cold,  at  th«  price  you 
paid  for  this  volume 

Black  Adonis,  A 
Garston  Bigamy,  The 
Her  Husband's  Friend 
His  Foster  Sister 
His  Private  Character 
In  Stella's  Shadow 
Love  at  Seventy 
Love  Gone  Astray 
Moulding  a  Maiden 
Naked  Truth,  The 
New  Sensation,  A 
Original  Sinner,  An 
Out  of  Wedlock 
Speaking  of  Ellen 
Stranger  Than  Fiction 
Sugar  Princess,  A 
That  Gay  Deceiver 
Their  Marriage  Bond 
Thou  Shalt  Not 
Thy  Neighbor's  Wife 
Why  I'm  Single 
Young  Fawcett's  Mabel 
Young  Miss  Giddy 

G.  W.  DILUNGHAM  CO. 

Publishers  ::  ::  New  York 


AN  ORIGINAL  SINNER. 


BY  ALBERT  Ross. 


AUTHOR   OF 


"THY    NEIGHBOR'S  WIFE,"  "  IN  STELLA'S  SHADOW, 

"WHY  I'M  SINGLE,"  "Tnou  SHALT  NOT," 

"  His  PRIVATE  CHARACTER,"  ETC. 


"  The  eternal  error  /"  he  mused.  "  The 
cardinal  mistake.  No  man  knows  him- 
self. No  woman  knows  herself.  A  word, 
a  touch,  a  look,  and  the  angel  becomes  a 
demon" — Page  133. 


NEW  YORK: 

r»e«T,  i89i, »r  G.  w.  MLUNWMH. 

G.    W.    Dittingham     Co.,    Publishers. 
\AUrtghts  reserved.  ] 


CONTENTS. 


Chapter  Page 

I.  Designed  for  the  Ministry 9 

II.  The  Best  Shod  Woman  in  Boston 21 

III.  "  I  like  Albert  Ross  and  Ouida." 33 

IV.  "  She's  not  like  other  girls." 36 

V.  The  Laws  of  Heredity 54 

VI.  "  I  love  your  daughter." 60 

VII.  Was  Lettie  in  Love  ? 70 

VIII.  A  Picture  of  Innocence 80 

IX.  "  My  God  !  they  will  be  killed  !".....  92 

X.  Hell  Fire  and  that  Sort  of  Thing 105 

XI.  A  Dangerous  Companion 1 16 

XII.  "  No  woman  knows  herself." 126 

XIII.  Midnight  and  Bessie 137 

XIV.  A  Game  of  Hearts 146 

XV.  "  If  we're  not  found  out." 158 

XVI.  Mark  Melton's  Protest 168 

XVII.  Compelling  a  Kiss 179 

XVIII.  "  She  will  probably  have  children.". . .  190 

XIX.  My  Brother's  Keeper 203 

XX.  Off  for  Arcadie 214 

XXI.  "  No,  I  never  loved  you." 221 

XXII.  "  Good-night,  my  wife." 227 

XXIII.  Another  Man's  Bride 239 

XXIV.  A  Confidential  Talk 250 

XXV.  "  I  wanted  you  to  suffer." 261 

w 
2132421 


VI  CONTENTS. 

Chapter  Page 

XXVI.  In  the  Face  of  Dishonor 267 

XXVII.  Champagne  and  Grapes 274 

XXVIII.  "  There  is  a  devil  in  him." 284 

XXIX.  A  House  of  Sin 293 

XXX.  A  Man  of  God 300 

XXXI.  "  I  think  you  have  killed  me." 307 

XXXII.  Clyde  Morley's  Diary 317 

XXXIII.  "  What  is  marriage  for  ?" 328 

XXXIV.  A  Little  Sieight-of-Hand 336 


TO  MY  READERS. 


Perhaps  the  strongest  criticism  that  could  be 
brought  against  this  story  is  that  it  is  improbable. 
To  that  charge.  I  am  willing  in  advance  to  plead 
guilty.  A  similar  idea,  without  the  least  pretence  of 
probability,  which  has  been  worked  out  by  one  of 
the  masters  of  English  fiction,  stands  easily  among 
the  first  half  dozen  great  books  that  have  seen  the 
light  in  this  generation.  The  tale  /  tell  could  have 
happened  and  his  could  not  ;  but  the  lesson  I  desire 
to  teach  will  be  no  less  apparent  should  you  guess  my 
chief  secret  and  think  you  could  have  done  as  much 
had  you  been  associated  with  the  brothers  Morley. 
The  inadvisability  of  saying  more  on  this  head  will 
be  better  appreciated  when  the  final  pages  are  fin- 
ished. 

There  are  still  ghouls  who  assail  each  novel  of 
mine  without  reading  aline  of  it,  though  most  of  the 
notices  which  come  to  me  tell  a  different  tale.  One 
writer  gravely  announces  that  "  Thy  Neighbor's 
Wife  "  is  "  not  as  bad  as  its  boastful  preface  would 
seem  to  indicate."  Let  those  of  you  who  have  a 
copy  handy  read  that  preface  again,  and  see  if  you 
can  find  a  word  that  justifies  this  slander.  Another, 
signing  a  woman's  name,  declares  that  the  same 
novel  is  morally  worse — just  think  of  it ! — than 
"  even  'Speaking  of  Ellen.'  "  Has  she  ever  opened 

[vii] 


TO   MY   HEADERS. 

the  covers  of  that  story  of  a  pure,  high-souled  work- 
ing-girl,  that  the  noblest  modern  apostle  of  reform 
wrote  me  he  hoped  a  hundred  thousand  beside 
himself  would  read  ?  The  80.000  people  who  have 
already  purchased  the  novel,  and  the  hundreds  of 
thousands  who  have  read  it,  can  give  the  right  name 
to  that  kind  of  "criticism." 

My  thanks  are  due  to  the  press  for  a  thousand 
kind  words  during  the  past  year.  An  occasional 
exception  like  those  mentioned  only  make  the  con- 
trast the  greater. 

Last  winter  I  spent  pleasurably  in  Florida,  Louis- 
iana, other  parts  of  the  South  and  the  great  Republic 
beyond.  Everywhere  I  was  importuned  to  locate  a 
novel  in  that  section,  and  some  day  I  may  do  so.  At 
present  my  plans  are  too  far  developed  in  other  direc- 
tions. The  kindness  I  met  and  the  numerous  testi- 
monies to  the  popularity  of  my  works — which  I  found 
alike  in  the  gorgeous  hotels  of  St.  Augustine  and  the 
mining  camps  of  Mexico — I  shall  never  forget. 

Once  more  I  must  express  my  appreciation  of  the 
flattering  communications  of  my  numerous  corres- 
pondents, to  whom,  as  well  as  to  all  my  other 
readers,  in  this  centennial  year,  I  wish  health  and 
happiness. 

ALBERT  Ross. 

Cambridge,  Mass., 
May,  1893. 


AN  ORIGINAL  SINNER. 


CHAPTER  I. 

DESIGNED    FOR   THE   MINISTRY. 

As  he  entered  the  village  church,  every  eye  in  the 
congregation  was  raised.  Pale  to  such  a  degree  that 
one  who  did  not  know  him  might  have  suspected 
serious  illness,  with  restless  dark  eyes  accentuated 
by  the  pallor  that  surrounded  them,  with  clean 
shaven  face  and  hair  combed  back  on  both  sides, 
Clyde  Morley  always  attracted  attention,  and  to-day 
there  was  a  new  reason  why  he  should  be  the 
observed  of  all  observers.  Everybody  knew  that 
he  had  decided  to  go  on  a  long  journey — in  search 
of  health,  it  was  said — and  that  this  was  probably 
the  last  Sunday  he  would  be  seen  in  Arcadie  for 
many  months. 

They  watched  him  enter  the  holy  edifice,  in  com- 
pany with  his  guardian,  Rev.  Dr.  Welsh,  the  pastor  ; 
and  as  the  pair  walked  slowly  down  the  broad  aisle 
it  came  into  many  minds  that  some  day  Reverend  Mr. 
Morley  would  ascend  that  pulpit.  The  aged  minister 
was  hardly  more  saintly  in  their  eyes  that  this  young 


10  AN   ORIGINAL   SINNER. 

man,  now  not  over  twenty-three,  who  had  been 
brought  up  after  his  parents'  deaths  under  the  im- 
mediate eye  of  the  good  Doctor. 

Mr.  Morley  took  his  seat  in  his  pew,  bending  his 
head  devoutly  in  silent  prayer.  The  clergyman 
gave  out  the  opening  hymn,  and  when  it  was  finished 
announced  his  text. 

Perhaps  no  sermon  delivered  in  that  church  had 
ever  received  less  attention.  It  was  only  when  a 
veiled  reference  was  made  to  the  prospective  depart- 
ure of  the  young  man  who  was  in  the  thoughts  of 
all  that  a  temporary  interest  in  the  discourse  was 
excited.  They  had  known  him  from  a  boy,  and  had 
watched  him  as  he  grew  older,  feeling  that  he  was 
something  above  themselves,  almost  above  the  earth 
on  which  he  trod.  He  had  talked  little  religion  to 
them,  but  his  life  had  seemed  a  perpetual  light.  The 
boys  always  thought  of  him  when  the  minister  dis- 
coursed of  the  youth  of  Jesus  ;  the  old  men  raised 
their  hats  to  him  instinctively  ;  the  matrons  half 
believed  that  virtue  exuded  from  his  garments. 

No  young  woman  of  marriageable  age  ever  in- 
cluded Mr.  Morley  in  her  dreams  of  matrimony. 
Those  who  gathered  at  the  Judean  sepulchre  would 
as  soon  have  thought  of  marriage  with  the  angel  who 
rolled  away  the  stone  on  that  first  Easter  morning. 

He  had  never  been  backward  in  the  church  meet- 
ings. No  other  prayer  seemed  so  simple,  unaffected 
and  yet  so  powerful.  But  he  had  done  more  than 
speak  and  pray.  He  had  been  known  to  gather  a 
crop  for  a  poor  widow,  stopping  on  the  way  home  to 
show  a  group  of  boys  how  to  play  a  scientific  game 
of  ball.  No  one  would  be  likely  to  forget  the  time 
when  he  risked  his  life  to  save  a  pet  dog  belonging 


DESIGNED   FOR   THE   MINISTRY.  11 

to  a  Kittle  fellow  in  his  Sunday-school  class,  that  had 
fallen  into  the  millstream  ;  nor  how,  when  the  scar- 
let fever  raged,  and  it  was  impossible  to  hire  experi- 
enced nurses,  he  left  college  to  come  home  and  spend 
six  weeks  caring  for  the  more  violent  cases  in  the 
improvised  hospital. 

"  Others  talk  about  Christ,  but  he  lives  him,"  was 
the  expression  of  a  woman  whom  he  had  more  than 
once  befriended. 

When  he  was  asked  if  he  intended  to  devote  his 
life  to  preaching  the  gospel,  Morley  sometimes  an- 
swered, humbly,  "  Yes,  if  I  ever  grow  to  think  myself 
worthy." 

The  inquirers  went  their  ways  impressed  with  his 
sincerity,  though  not  in  the  least  understanding  him. 
If  he  was  not  fit  to  preach,  they  wondered  who  could  be. 

Dr.  Welsh  had  many  a  talk  with  him  upon  the 
subject. 

"  You  underrate  yourself,"  he  said.  "  You  ought 
to  proceed  at  once  to  finish  your  divinity  course. 
A  great  work  is  open  to  you.  The  harvest  is  plenty 
and  the  laborers  far  too  few." 

Then  Morley  shook  his  head  doubtfully,  as  he 
replied  : 

"No  man  has  aright  to  set  himself  upas  a  teacher 
until  his  own  life  is  secure.  He  should  live  down 
every  temptation  before  he  undertakes  such  a  lofty 
mission." 

The  good  clergyman  smiled  amiably. 

"  One  would  be  more  than  human  if  he  were  never 
tempted,"  he  answered.  "  Don't  imagine  that  we  of 
the  pulpit  are  created  of  different  clay  from  our  con- 
gregations. On  the  contrary,  it  is  because  we  are 
accustomed  to  the  same  tendencies  that  we  are  able 


12  AN   ORIGINAL   SINNER. 

to  advise  and  instruct  them.  We  are  told  that  the 
greatest  One  who  ever  bore  our  likeness  was  '  tempted 
in  all  points  like  as  we  are.'" 

Morley  answered  in  a  very  low  voice  : 

"  But  we  are  not  told  that  he  yielded." 

"No,  my  son,  and  neither  will  you." 

It  was  impossible  for  Dr.  Welsh  to  connect  "  his 
boy"  with  anything  like  a  real  transgression. 

"  How  can  we  tell  ?"  was  the  reply.  '"Let  him 
that  standeth  take  heed,'  saith  the  Scripture.  I  want 
to  go  away  awhile  and  mix  with  the  world.  A 
teacher  does  well  to  attend  the  school  from  which  his 
pupils  are  to  come." 

Dr.  Welsh  did  not  fully  approve  of  this  idea,  but 
he  saw  that  Clyde  was  set  on  it  and  that  it  was  not 
wise  to  object  too  much.  He  only  thought  of  the 
time  that  would  be  lost  before  getting  to  work  in 
the  Master's  vineyard,  for  he  felt  that  this  young 
man  would  be  safe  anywhere.  His  spiritual  nature 
shone  from  his  clear  forehead.  Clyde  would  never 
be  one  to  eat  meat  or  drink  wine  if  thereby  he 
caused  his  brother  to  offend. 

"Go,  my  dear  boy,"  he  said,  feelingly,  "but  be 
not  absent  too  long.  Every  day  is  so  much  taken 
from  the  work  you  are  called  to  do." 

Morley  looked  at  his  guardian  affectionately. 

"  How  certain  you  seem  to  be  of  what  my  duty 
is,"  he  said.  "  Perhaps  some  other  field  may  yet 
seem  wiser  for  me  to  follow.  I  feel  that  the  pulpit 
is  not  a  thing  to  decide  upon  without  full  consider- 
ation. Many  enter  that  sacred  profession  who  are 
unfitted  for  it,  to  the  great  scandal  of  religion.  How 
frequently  we  read  of  councils  called  to  sit  in  judg- 
ment on  ministers  accused  of  immoralities.  To  be 


DESIGNED    FOR   THE    MI.TT^TRY.  13 

sure  they  are  often  acquitted,  for  which  we  should 
thank  God  ;  but  the  ideal  pastor  is  one  against 
whom  no  breath  of  suspicion  could  lodge.  Leave 
this  matter  to  me,  for  no  one  else  can  decide  it  so 
well.  I  will  write  to  you  frequently  and  let  you 
know  how  I  am  progressing." 

It  was  a  grief  to  the  minister  to  think  of  even  a 
possibility  of  his  ward's  giving  up  the  profession  for 
which  he  had  done  so  much  to  fit  him,  but  he  be- 
lieved it  would  come  about  all  right  yet.  Clyde 
only  wanted  a  chance  to  debate  the  matter  fully  in 
his  own  mind.  He  was  to  take  his  books  with  him 
and  devote  a  portion  of  each  day  to  study.  Surely 
the  Holy  Spirit  would  guide  him  aright.  The 
doctor  had  great  faith  and  he  tried  to  rest  content. 

On  the  Sunday  in  question,  Mr.  Morley  spoke 
earnestly  to  his  class,  urging  the  boys  not  to  be  any 
less  regular  in  attendance  because  he  was  absent. 
And  at  the  close  of  his  remarks  he  said  some  things 
which  made  them  wonder. 

"  Truth  is  truth  and  right  is  right,  whatever 
individuals  may  do  to  shame  it.  When  I  am  far 
from  you,  remember  only  the  best  things  you  have 
known  of  me.  Do  not  confound  my  actions  with 
the  precepts  I  have  given  you,  should  there  ever  come 
a  time  when  I  forget  to  live  up  to  them.  Let  con- 
science be  your  guide,  and  you  cannot  go  far  wrong." 

One  of  the  boys  suggested  that  the  teacher  had 
spoken  as  if  he  might  never  return  to  Arcadie  ;  at 
which  the  tears  came  into  his  eyes  and  those  of  all 
the  others. 

"  Life  is  uncertain  at  best,"  replied  Morley,  with 
emotion.  "  Every  good-bye  may  be  a  final  one.  I 
hope  that  this  will  not  Drove  so,  but  if  it  does — if  it 


14  AN   ORIGINAL  SINNEB. 

does — remember  that  the  sins  of  other  men  will  be  no 
excuse  for  yours.  If  you  would  be  happy  in  this 
world  and  the  next,  you  must  always  be  upright  and 
honorable,  in  every  relation  of  life." 

At  the  simple  meal  which  Dr.  Welch's  puritanic 
ideas  allowed  him  to  have  served  on  Suuday,  little 
was  said  either  by  him  or  Mr.  Morley.  The  heart  of 
the  clergyman  was  heavy.  He  loved  this  youth  as 
well  as  if  his  own  blood  flowed  in  his  veins.  He  had 
taken  him  to  fill  a  vacant  place  in  his  house,  when  a 
little  son  died  in  infancy.  Living  alone  with  a 
housekeeper,  he  had  missed  the  bright  face  and 
cheerful  voice  during  the  long  term  that  Clyde  had 
passed  in  college  at  Amherst,  and  had  looked  for- 
ward with  delight  to  the  time  when  the  study  of 
Christian  precepts  would  be  carried  on  under  his  own 
supervision.  Now,  after  a  few  months  of  this  work, 
his  pupil  was  to  abandon  it  suddenly  and  go  out  into 
the  world,  with  no  definite  time  set  for  return — even 
with  a  partial  intimation  that  he  might  never  take  it 
up  again. 

Morley  could  not  confide  to  this  man  the  reasons 
that  actuated  him  in  his  decision.  He  felt  that  he 
must  go,  that  he  could  not  risk  a  longer  delay.  He 
hoped  the  fit  would  pass  away  and  that  he  should 
come  back  content  to  obey  the  wishes  of  the  one 
whom  he  loved  like  a  father.  But  he  could  promise 
nothing.  He  could  only  leave  that  to  the  future, 
which  seemed  very  uncertain  to  him. 

When  the  dinner  was  ended  he  went  to  his  chamber 
and  sat  down — to  think.  To  think  !  Had  he  not 
thought  enough,  for  the  love  of  heaven  !  How  could 
he  accomplish  anything  by  thinking  more? 

"  Poor,  dear,  good  old  doctor  !"  he  said  to  himself. 


I/ESIGNED   FOR   THE   MINISTRY.  15 

"  He  little  knows  what  is  raging  in  the  soul  of  the 
young  saint  in  whom  he  has  such  confidence.  He 
little  dreams  that  if  I  did  not  leave  Arcadie  I  might 
bring  a  curse  upon  the  place  instead  of  a  blessing. 
Yes,  I  must  go  and  see  what  the  world  is  like.  I 
must  go  and  find  what  there  is  in  it  that  so  delights 
and  fascinates  my  brother — my  brother  Frank." 

Strange  as  it  may  seem,  a  smile  came  into  the  pale 
face  as  this  name  was  uttered.  But  it  faded  in  u 
moment  as  other  thoughts  followed. 

"Were  ever  twin  brothers  so  little  alike!"  he 
demanded.  "  How  can  it  be,  born  of  one  mother  in 
the  self-same  hour,  that  one  of  them  listens  only  to 
the  voice  of  God  and  the  other  hearkens  continually 
to  the  deceits  of  earth  ?  How  is  it  that  one  only 
hopes  to  prove  his  worthiness  to  preach  religion  till 
his  hair  is  gray  and  his  step  faltering,  asking  no 
higher  reward  than  the  consciousness  of  duty  wel? 
performed,  while  the  other  thinks  present  joy  the 
full  complement  of  supreme  existence,  and  even 
doubts  if  there  be  intelligent  life  beyond  it  ?  Why 
has  one  lived  as  safe  from  the  allurements  of  sin 
as  a  vestal  virgin,  while  the  other  walks  in  a  worldly 
path  with  thoughtless  steps.  And  these  men  are 
brothers — twin  brothers — who  ought  to  be  as  much 
alike  in  soul  as  they  are  in  feature.  Ah,  Frank, 
Frank  !  I  know  not  whether  I  love  or  hate  you  most  !" 

The  smile  came  again,  in  strange  contradiction  of 
the  words  spoken,  and  then  the  saddest  expression 
of  all  followed.  The  face  of  the  thinker  was  buried 
in  his  hands  as  if  he  would  hide  something  that  he 
could  not  bear  to  contemplate. 

"  What  is  the  matter  with  me  !"  he  exclaimed, 
nervouslv.  when  he  looked  uo  a^-a-in.  '*  I  have  been 


16  AN   ORIGINAL   SIN  NEK. 

well  taught.  From  a  baby  I  have  been  pointed  out 
as  a  model  of  goodness.  I  have  been  guarded  from 
all  evil  company.  Good  Dr.  Welsh  crammed  me 
full  of  commentaries  as  regularly  as  he  gave  me  oat- 
meal, during  my  entire  boyhood. 

"  I  was  not  three  feet  high  when  I  learned  that  I 
was  destined  to  be  a  clergyman.  I  was  the  prize 
scholar  in  the  Sunday-school  when  I  was  seven. 
Even  then  the  other  little  fellows  changed  the 
subjects  of  their  conversation  when  I  came  among 
them  at  their  play.  If  one  of  them  wanted  to  swear  he 
would  substitute  some  milder  expletive  in  deference 
to  my  presence.  When  I  grew  older  the  girls  told 
me  their  troubles  as  freely  as  if  I  were  a  mother  to 
every  one  of  them.  They  gave  me  their  sweetest 
smiles,  but  the  nature  of  the  smile  has  changed  now. 
It  is  not  the  kind  they  give  to  other  young  men. 
There  is  a  sort  of  '  Your  reverence  '  in  it.  I  wonder 
what  some  of  them  would  say  if  they  knew  the 
things  that  sometimes  creep  into  my  head  !" 

Mr.  Morley  shivered.  Several  young  maidens  of 
the  village  were  crossing  the  green  field  in  front  of 
the  house  at  that  moment,  and  he  paused  to  look 
after  them  till  they  were  out  of  sight. 

"  What  right  have  I  to  watch  them  ?"  he  muttered . 
relapsing  into  his  reverie.  "  If  I  should  speak  a 
word  of  love  to  one,  she  would  scream,  stop  her  ears 
and  fly,  thinking  me  insane.  Has  it  not  always  been 
so  ?  When  I  went  to  Amherst,  I  was  elected,  without 
being  consulted,  president  of  the  Y.  M.  C.  A.  of  the 
college.  I  suppose  the  letter  that  I  bore  from  Dr. 
Welsh  did  that.  The  professors  treated  me  like 
some  piece  of  rare  porcelain,  upon  which  the  vulgar 
breath  must  not  be  permitted  to  blow.  I  was  asked 


DESIGNED   FOB   THE   MINISTBY.  17 

to  take  charge  of  religious  meetings  oftener  than  any 
of  my  associates.  I  was  treated  not  only  by  the 
faculty  but  by  my  classmates  as  a  sort  of  superior 
being.  I  have  read  that  there  is  sin  in  the  life  of  a 
student.  So  far  as  my  knowledge  goes,  that  state- 
ment is  a  complete  libel.  No  one  would  have  had 
the  hardihood  to  let  anything  of  the  kind  come 
under  my  observation.  I  finished  my  four  years  and 
then  began  to  study  for  a  divinity  course,  here  in 
this  village  of  Arcadie,  sleepy  enough  for  the  dreams 
of  a  poet.  There  is  my  life  outlined.  Is  it  any 
wonder,  looking  back  over  such  an  existence  and 
feeling  as  I  do,  that  I  should  ask,  '  What  ails  me  ?'  " 

There  was  a  desperate  cadence  in  the  voice,  for 
these  words  were  spoken  aloud.  At  the  end  there 
was  a  pause,  as  if  the  speaker  half  expected  some 
other  voice  would  answer  him. 

"  I  think  I  know  where  the  trouble  began,"  he 
went  on.  "Tired  of  doing  nothing  but  study,  I 
offered  myself  in  my  second  year  for  the  sophomore 
crew,  shocking  my  professors  extremely.  But  I 
pulled  a  very  good  oar,  and  when  we  won  the  race 
the  boys  gave  me  a  good  share  of  the  credit.  I  felt 
the  strength  of  a  giant  and  I  knew  we  must  win.  I 
heard  the  boys  talk  about  the  strangeness  of  so 
religious  a  man  entering  a  race,  but  I  could  not 
see  that  I  had  done  any  violence  to  my  creed,  by  exer- 
cising the  muscles  of  my  arms  and  back.  The  next 
term  I  joined  the  college  nine,  and  the  students 
began  to  admit  that  prayer  was  not  wholly  incom- 
patible with  the  ability  to  pitch  a  ball.  During  the 
next  year,  I  spent  a  great  deal  of  time  in  the 
gymnasium,  and  began  to  take  lessons  in  fencing 
and  boxing.  That  came  near  precipitating  a  col- 


18  AN   ORIGINAL   8INNEB. 

lision.  One  of  the  professors,  who  took  a  deep  inter- 
est in  my  spiritual  welfare,  assured  me  that  boxing 
was  unchristian.  He  said  we  were  told  in  the  Bible 
to  present  the  other  cheek  when  struck,  instead  of 
studying  how  to  get  in  a  return  blow  in  the  most 
effective  manner.  Still,  he  did  not  reproach  me 
when  I  found  his  daughter  one  dark  night,  on  a 
lonely  street,  in  the  grasp  of  a  ruffian,  and  broke 
his  jawbone.  After  that,  the  professor  held  his 
peace  about  the  sinfulness  of  such  strong  training  as 
I  was  indulging  in.  And  yet  I  know  to-day  that  the 
good  man  was  right  all  the  time  and  that  I  was 
wrong." 

Another  bevy  of  girls  were  crossing  the  field  and 
the  student  stopped  to  observe  them  as  they  climbed 
a  stile. 

"I  was  wrong,"  he  repeated.  "To  have  carried 
out  my  purpose  of  remaining  a  saint  I  never  should 
have  developed  my  body.  Strengthening  my  muscles 
gave  new  power  to  my  heart,  which  gorged  itself 
with  rivers  of  red  blood  and  sent  them  out  in  every 
artery  till  they  intoxicated  my  brain.  The  better 
animal  I  became  the  less  fit  was  I  to  be  what  I  had 
intended.  I  am  five  feet  eleven,  and  weigh  a  hun- 
dred and  eighty  pounds — just  forty  more  than  I  can 
carry  off  with  safety.  I  have  tried  the  most  violent 
exercise,  and  my  vitality  has  steadily  increased 
instead  of  diminishing.  I  have  ridden  horseback, 
climbed  hills,  walked  twenty  miles  a  day,  hoed  pota- 
toes, sawed  wood.  Result,  more  life,  more  blood 
than  I  know  what  to  do  with.  Nobody  suspects  my 
trouble.  They  see  that  I  am  tall  and  muscular,  but 
they  also  see  that  I  am  pale,  and  that  tired  rings  are 
forming  under  my  eyes.  They  call  my  look  *  intel- 


DESIGNED    FOE   THE   MINI8TKY.  19 

Jectual,'  and  '  spiritual.'  That  men  should  live  fifty 
years  in  this  world  and  know  no  more  than  that  ! 
Am  I  unlike  all  the  rest,  and  passing  through  an 
entirely  novel  succession  of  experiences  ?  They  talk 
of  Original  Sin.  Can  it  be  that  I  am  an  Original 
Sinner?" 

Failing  to  find  a  reply  to  his  numerous  inquiries, 
either  in  his  own  mind  or  elsewhere,  Mr.  Morley  rose 
from  his  seat  by  the  window  and  went  to  his  writing- 
desk,  from  which  he  took  some  sheets  of  paper  and 
an  envelope.  Seating  himself  at  the  desk  he  dipped 
a  pen  in  ink.  As  he  began  to  write,  the  smile  came 
back  to  his  troubled  face. 

"  I  must  write  to  Frank,"  he  said,  "  to  dear  Frank, 
that  twin  brother,  so  like  me  in  feature,  so  unlike  me 
in  everything  else.  I  must  tell  him  that  I  am  going 
away  from  Arcadie,  in  search  of  change,  on  a  vaca- 
tion, the  length  of  which  is  undetermined.  It  may 
be  that  I  shall  see  Frank  before  I  return,  but  for  the 
present  I  must  ask  him  to  send  my  letters  when  he 
writes  (he  is  such  a  bad  correspondent),  to  the  care  of 
Mr.  Leavitt,  Nassau  street,  New  York.  But  particular- 
ly is  it  my  duty  to  warn  Frank  in  this  epistle  against 
the  snares  in  the  world  where  he  abides,  and  which 
he  knows  much  more  of,  no  doubt,  than  I  can  tell 
him.  Of  course  he  would  not  actually  do  wrong 
things — really  wicked  ones — this  twin  brother  of 
mine  ;  but,  nevertheless,  his  course  keeps  him  in 
constant  peril." 

There  seemed  nothing  in  that  soliloquy  to  justify 
the  continued  presence  of  a  smile  on  the  face  of  Mr. 
Morley,  but  truth  compels  the  author  of  this  book  to 
say  that  it  still  rested  there.  As  the  reader  will  not 
meet  him  again  for  many  days  when  he  exhibits 


20  AN   ORIGINAL   SINNER. 

anything  but  his  customary  sedateness,  it  may  be 
well  to  note  the  exception  to  the  rule.  He  dipped 
his  pen  again  in  the  ink  and  went  on  with  the  letter, 
pausing  at  the  end  of  each  sentence  to  read  it  slowly. 
The  entire  composition  occupied  him  for  an  hour 
and  covered  three  sheets  of  common  letter  paper. 
When  he  had  written,  "  Your  Affectionate  Brother," 
and  affixed  his  name,  he  sat  back  in  his  chair  and 
read  the  entire  production  again,  weighing  it  care- 
fully in  his  mind  as  he  proceeded.  Then  he  took  an 
envelope  and  wrote  this  upon  it  : 

Mr.  Frank  Morley, 

Quincy  House, 

Boston,  Mass. 

The  address  seemed  to  have  a  special  attraction 
for  him,  and  he  sat  looking  at  it  for  some  minutes 
without  moving. 

"  Yes,"  he  said,  brightening,  "  Frank  must  still  be 
stopping  at  the  Quincy  House.  If  he  had  changed 
his  address,  he  surely  would  have  told  me." 

He  placed  the  letter  in  the  envelope,  stamped, 
sealed  it,  and  put  it  in  his  pocket.  Then  he  turned 
to  the  mirror  above  his  mantel. 

"  Intellectual !  Spiritual,  is  it  !"  he  said  to  his  re- 
flection. "  I  could  give  it  another  name  ;  but  what 
does  it  matter?  Muscles  like  iron,  a  heart  beating 
like  the  great  hammer  of  a  mill,  and  pale  enough  for 
an  invalid  !  I  wish  there  was  some  evil  to  combat 
that  only  required  physical  strength.  Macaulay  tells 
of  a  bishop  who  threw  off  his  cassock  and  donned 
jack-boots  to  fight  James  II.  This  face  and  frame  of 
mine  are  at  war,  and  the  frame  will  win,  if  I  don't 


THE   BEST    SHOD   WOMAN    IN    BOSTON.  21 

have  a  care.  No,  I  don't  mean  that !  I  am  still 
strong  enough  mentally  to  guard  myself.  A  few 
months  of  change  will  make  me  all  right,  and  then 
Clyde  Morley,  like  Richard,  will  be  himself  again  !" 
He  went  to  the  post-office  to  put  his  letter  in  at  the 
orifice  in  the  door,  bowing  to  all  he  met,  but  stop- 
ping to  speak  to  none.  And  more  than  one  woman 
remarked  afterwards  that  she  had  never  seen  his 
face  so  like  an  angel's  ! 


CHAPTER   II. 

THE   BEST    SHOD    WOMAN    IN    BOSTON. 

"  There's  the  best  shod  woman  in  Boston  !" 
A  loud  laugh  from  the  half  dozen  companions  of 
Mr.  Frank  Morley  greeted  this  statement.  One  of 
them,  Mark  Melton,  a  young  medical  student,  did 
not  join  in  the  hilarity,  but  with  the  others  it  was 
universal.  The  party  sat  at  the  window  of  the 
Revere  Club,  situated  near  the  corner  of  Tremont 
and  Park  streets.  A  young  lady,  who  had  just 
passed,  in  company  with  one  more  elderly,  was  the 
cause  of  the  remark  that  convulsed  the  crowd. 

"You  wanted  to  know  what  interested  me  so  in 
her,  and  I  answered  you  honestly,"  continued  Mr. 
Morley.  "It's  no  small  thing  to  find  a  woman  as 
well  shod  as  she.  If  you  don't  believe  it,  make  a 
tour  of  the  fashionable  streets  or  the  retail  quarter 
and  see  for  yourself.  You  will  find  plenty  of 
expensive  gowns,  elegant  hats,  handsomely  arranged 


22  AN   ORIGINAL   SINNER. 

hair  and  pretty  faces.  But  the  boots — what  are 
they,  for  the  most  part  ?  Dowdy  things,  run  over  at 
the  heel,  marked  and  scarred  by  use,  badly  shaped, 
muddy  if  there  has  been  a  shower  or  a  watering- 
cart  along  within  half  a  day.  Then,  if  this  young 
lady  comes  by,  you  may  note  the  difference.  The 
dictionary  does  not  contain  adjectives  enough  to 
express  the  admirable  character  of  her  foot-gear. 
To  see  her  after  the  others  is  like  coming  out  of  the 
hot  parlor  of  a  summer  hotel  upon  the  broad  piazza 
that  overlooks  the  sea." 

The  coterie,  all  but  Melton,  indulged  in  another 
laugh. 

"  Bah  Jove  !  It  takes  Fwankie  to  makes  com- 
pa-wisons  !" 

It  was  Charlie  Wilkins  who  said  this,  an  over- 
dressed young  fellow  who,  had  he  lived  at  the  pres- 
ent day,  would  have  been  called  a  dude.  But  this 
occurred  long  ago,  when  that  word  had  not  been 
coined,  and  about  eight  months,  by-the-way,  after 
Clyde  Morley  left  the  village  of  Arcadie. 

Frank  was  a  tall,  handsome  fellow,  liked  by  every- 
one in  the  club,  of  which  he  was  the  soul  and  life. 
He  was  dressed  in  a  business-looking  suit  of  gray, 
with  a  bright  cravat  and  a  slouch  hat,  which  he  kept 
on  his  head,  even  inside  the  clubhouse.  He  had  a 
rather  long,  drooping  moustache,  which  he  was  in 
the  habit  of  fondling  considerably.  He  devoted  a 
portion  of  each  day  to  the  reading  of  law  at  an 
office  on  Court  street,  but  he  never  seemed  pushed 
by  his  engagements,  acting  like  one  who  knows  the 
world  is  before  him  and  means  to  take  his  time  in 
dealing  with  it. 

The  Revere  was  not  an  aristocratic  organization, 


THE   BEST   SHOD  WOMAN   IN  BOSTON.  23 

being  composed  for  the  most  part  of  young  fellows 
employed  in  the  large  wholesale  houses.  Its  quarters 
were  not  expensive  and  its  cuisine  was  limited.  It 
afforded  a  meeting-place — one  might  almost  say 
loafing-place — for  its  members  at  a  moderate  cost, 
and  a  lunch  that  was  a  little  cheaper  than  it  would 
have  been  outside.  Frank,  who  could  have  afforded 
a  much  dearer  club,  had  taken  a  great  fancy  to  this 
one,  being  naturally  of  democratic  tendencies,  and 
he  was  found  here  nearly  every  day  from  twelve  to 
two. 

"  This  is  not  such  a  laughing  matter  as  you  seem 
to  think,"  he  went  on  to  say,  still  maintaining  his 
gravity  amid  the  laughter  of  his  associates.  "To 
many  women  clothes  are  a  religion.  Let  a  girl's 
new  hat  fail  to  arrive  Saturday  night  and  ten  to  one 
she  will  be  missed  from  church  on  Sunday.  Let  her 
discover  that  one  of  her  chums  has  a  newer  cloak 
than  she  and  you  will  find  her  strictly  'at  home* 
until  papa's  purse  remedies  the  deficiency.  Most  of 
them  pay  enough  for  boots  to  get  better  results  than 
they  do,  but  it  requires  positive  genius  to  dress  the 
feet  as  they  should  be.  The  young  lady  who  passed 
just  now  would  excite  their  envy,  as  she  does  my 
admiration,  if  they  could  see  themselves  with  my 
eyes." 

Mr.  Wilkins  raised  himself  languidly  from  the 
sofa  on  which  he  was  reclining  at  nearly  full  length 
and  adjusted  his  glass. 

"Excuse  me,  de-ar  boy,"  he  drawled,  "but  how 
the  de-vil  do  you  know  so  much  about  it?  You're 
not  mar-wied  and  no  one  ever  knew  you  to  call  on  a 
gi-rl." 

"  Observation,    Charlie,"     was    the    quick   reply. 


24  AN   ORIGINAL  SINNER. 

"  Observation  and  listening  to  fellows  better  informed 
than  I." 

Between  this  question  and  answer  the  laughs  of 
the  party  were  repeated  as  before. 

Silas  Clarke,  a  reporter  on  the  Evening  Sphere,  put 
in  a  word  then. 

"  I  can  explain  it,  boys.  Frank  is  so  bashful  that 
when  he  meets  a  girl  he  does  not  dare  look  at  her 
face.  His  gaze  seeks  the  sidewalk,  and  naturally 
enough  he  gets  a  good  view  of  her  feet." 

Wilkins  rang  the  bell  at  that  and  when  the  stew- 
ard appeared,  he  inquired  what  the  boys  would  have 
to  drink.  He  declared  that  the  last  joke  of  Clarke's 
had  made  him  thirsty — actually  parched  his  throat, 
'pon  honor  ! 

"  You're  not  ex-actly  wight,  old  fellow,"  said 
Charlie,  when  he  had  moistened  his  palate.  "  Clo-thes 
aren't  <w-ewything  to  a  woman,  you  know.  There's 
some  doocid  fine  pic-tures — and — and  statues  in  the 
world  without  much  cal-icoon  them,  bah  Jove  !  Do 
you  think  We-nus  would  look  any  bet-ter  if  this 
gi-rl  we  just  saw  should  lend  her  a  pair  of  her 
sho-es  ?" 

Even  this  witticism,  which — more  from  the  man- 
ner of  its  delivery  than  anything  else,  and  the  fact 
that  all  had  so  recently  drunk  at  the  author's  expense 
— affected  the  others  to  suffocation,  had  no  effect 
whatever  on  Morley. 

"If  you  will  substitute  sandals  for  the  shoes,  and 
add  a  Grecian  costume  of  the  ancient  days,  in  the 
interest  of  harmony,"  said  he,  "  I  certainly  think  any 
statue  of  Venus  would  find  itself  much  improved  by 
the  addition.  I  would  no  sooner  paint  a  nude  female 
figure  than  a  chicken  minus  its  feathers.  No  such 


THE   BEST    SHOD   WOMAN   IN   BOSTON.  25 

iigure  can  be  as  beautiful  as  one  properly 
draped." 

Wilkins  was  so  much  interested  in  this  statement 
that  he  actually  sat  upright,  a  position  which  he 
assumed  in  the  club-room  very  seldom  indeed. 

"  That's  awful  twea-son  to  a-rt,"  he  protested. 
"  And  this  ti-me  you  can't  even  plead  obser-wation, 
Fwankie." 

"Why  not  ?"  demanded  Morley.  "  I've  seen  paint- 
ings enough  of  both  kinds,  I  should  think,  to  form  a 
fair  judgment." 

Silas  Clarke  came  to  the  aid  of  Wilkins,  in  part 
payment  for  the  bottle  of  beer  he  was  consuming. 

"We  shall  have  to  hold  you  to  your  assertion," 
he  said.  "  You  say  that  no  nude  female  figure  can 
be  as  beautiful  as  one  draped.  Now  the  question 
is,  how  can  you  tell  ?  You  don't  pretend  to  have 
seen  them  all  ?" 

Morley  sat  abstractedly  for  several  seconds. 

"Of  course,"  he  said,  rousing  himself,  "I  only 
meant  to  express  my  belief." 

Wilkins  heaved  a  comical  sigh  and  began  to  draw 
into  his  throat  the  contents  of  a  tumbler  filled  with 
julep. 

"  That's  dif-fewent,"  he  found  time  to  say  between 
swallows.  "  You  don't  believe  there's  a  he-11,  but 
you  can't  prove  there  is-n't  till  you  get  the-re." 

It  took  very  little  to  excite  the  risibles  of  the  club 
men,  and  most  of  them  considered  this  worth  another 
roar. 

"  I've  a  brother,"  replied  Frank,  soberly,  "  who 
could  answer  that  question.  "He's  not  only  sur« 
there  is  a  hell,  but  he's  positive  I'm  going  to  it." 

*  Oh,  the  pweacher  ?"  interposed  Wilkins.     "  Well, 


26  AN   ORIGINAL   SINNER. 

just  bwing  him  here  and  we'll  knock  that  non-sense 
out  of  him." 

Frank  sat  looking  intently  at  the  floor. 

"  I'm  not  able  to  say  he's  wrong,"  he  replied. 
"  He's  studied  the  matter  with  a  good  deal  of  care, 
and  he  knows  me  pretty  well." 

A  young  man  who  was  employed  in  a  leather-house 
on  High  street  protested  vigorously  against  this  sort 
of  conversation. 

"It's  too  damned  warm  to  talk  of  such  things 
to-day,"  said  he.  "Who  wants  to  think  of  a  hotter 
place  when  the  thermometer  in  Boston  registers 
85  degrees  ?  And  that  reminds  me  that  it's  time  I 
started  toward  the  office." 

The  rising  of  this  youth  served  as  a  general  signal 
for  departure.  Soon  the  room  was  emptied  of  all 
but  Morley  and  Melton,  if  we  except  Charlie  Wilkins, 
who  had  fallen  sound  asleep  on  a  sofa,  with  his 
mouth  open. 

"  I — I  know  the  young  lady  of  whom  you  were 
speaking  a  little  while  ago,"  said  the  medical  student, 
nervously. 

"  The  young  lady  !"  repeated  Frank,  with  a  start. 
*'  I  do  not  remember  speaking  of  any  young  lady." 

"  Have  you  forgotten  ?"  asked  Melton,  in  a  half- 
timid  manner.  "  The  one  who  passed  with  an  elderly 
companion." 

"  Oh  !"  cried  Morley.  "  I  remember.  But  I  was 
not  speaking  of  her.  I  was  only  speaking  of  her 
boots." 

Melton  shrank  a  little,  as  if  the  allusion  annoyed 
him. 

"  I  know  her  father,"  he  said.     "  He  is  Col.  Horace 


THE   BEST   SHOD   WOMAN    IN   BOSTON.  27 

Fuller,  a  retired  army  officer,  and  lives  in  rooms  on 
Shawmut  avenue.  You  must  have  heard  of  him." 

Morley  was  looking  out  of  the  window,  preoccu- 
pied for  the  moment.  He  had  just  had  his  attention 
attracted  to  a  lady  remarkably  well-dressed  except 
in  foot-gear,  which  was  execrable. 

"  Y-e-s,  I've  heard  of  the  Colonel,  but  I  have  never 
met  him  personally.  How  did  you  happen  to?" 

After  examining  the  face  of  Charlie  Wilkins  to 
make  sure  he  was  still  asleep,  Melton  replied,  cau- 
tiously : 

"My  father  knew  him  in  the  army.  I  was  intro- 
duced one  night  at  his  club,  and  he  invited  me  to 
call.  She's  a  very  nice  girl,  Miss  Fuller." 

"  Her  boots  are  certainly  perfection." 

Melton  was  evidently  pained  at  the  lightness  of  his 
companion's  manner,  but  Frank  was  still  gazing  out 
of  the  window  and  did  not  notice  it. 

"  She  is  a  most  lovely  girl,"  continued  the  medical 
student.  "  So  dutiful  to  her  father,  so  mindful  of  his 
comfort.  They  are  not  rich  and  her  clothes  aren't 
as  expensive  as  one  would  think.  She  evidently  has 
the  faculty  of  looking  well  on  a  little  money." 

Frank  Morley  could  not  give  up  the  impression 
that  had  been  made  on  his  mind. 

"  Her  boots  must  cost  a  mint,"  he  replied,  thought- 
fully. "  And  her  hosiery,  too,  for  she  always  wears 
tints  that  match.  You  can't  get  those  things  for  a 
song.  This  morning  she  had  on  low  shoes  with  rus- 
set hose,  all  alike.  I  should  have  set  her  down  as 
the  daughter  of  some  one  in  the  shoe  and  stocking 
line.  I  have  seen  her  frequently  this  summer,  and  it 
doesn't  seem  as  if  she  ever  wore  the  same  boots  or 
hosiery  twice." 


28  AN    ORIGINAL    SINNER. 

Melton  blinked  as  many  times  during  this  sen- 
tence as  if  each  word  had  been  a  flash  of  lightning. 

"  He  has  nothing  but  his  half-pay,  I  am  sure,"  he 
answered.  "  Their  rooms  are  furnished  plainly.  I 
go  there  sometimes  to  play  cribbage  with  him,  of 
which  he  is  very  fond.  He  plays  each  game  as  if  it 
was  the  deciding  battle  of  a  great  war." 

Frank  had  now  turned  around  and  was  observing 
his  friend  with  interest.  It  had  just  occurred  to  him 
that  there  was  something  more  than  common  in  the 
way  Mark  regarded  the  Colonel's  daughter. 

"  The  young  lady  has  sat  in  the  room  with  you 
sometimes,  I  suppose  ?"  he  said. 

"  Often." 

"  Then  you  should  have  observed  enough  to  know 
whether  I  am  right.  Has  she  ever  worn  the  same 
slippers — or  stockings — on  two  different  occasions?" 

Melton  flushed  all  over  his  earnest  face. 

"I  have  found  her  countenance  too  interesting  to 
permit  my  gaze  to  rest  elsewhere,"  he  remarked 
with  the  least  touch  of  asperity. 

Morley  shook  his  head,  slowly  but  positively. 

"A  great  mistake,  Mark;  a  great  mistake.  There 
are  a  thousand  pretty  faces  in  Boston  and  only  one 
pair  of  feet  shod  like  those." 

It  was  not  easy  to  get  angry  at  Frank.  Mark 
reckoned  him  among  his  most  particular  friends. 

"  I  think  you  would  find,  if  you  would  call  there 
with  me,"  he  said,  with  dignity,  "  that  Miss  Fuller's 
attractions  do  not  begin  and  end  below  the  hem  of 
her  gown." 

Morley  stretched  his  arms  lazily  above  his  head. 

"  You're  very  kind  to  propose  it,  Mark,"  he  replied, 
*  but  I  don't  often  get  as  near  women  as  that.  I 


THE   BEST   SHOD   WOMAN   IN   BOSTON.  29 

observe  them  at  a  respectful  distance,  in  public 
pvaces,  on  the  street,  or  out  of  this  window  here  ;  but 
to  walk  right  into  their  homes  would  be  too  much 
like  bearding  the  lion  in  his  den.  It  is  one  thing, 
you  know,  to  watch  the  king  of  beasts  from  outside 
his  bars,  and  quite  another  to  open  the  door  and 
enter." 

The  medical  student  could  not  repress  a  smile  at 
the  odd  comparison. 

"You  would  find,  if  you  went  there,"  he  said, 
"  that  Col.  Fuller  would  be  more  apt  to  take  you 
for  the  dangerous  beast  to  which  you  allude,  and 
have  a  care  that  his  pet  lamb  did  not  come  too  near 
your  claws.  He  treats  her  exactly  as  if  she  was 
only  a  little  girl,  and  she  seems  perfectly  content 
that  he  should  do  so.  She  is  the  most  retiring 
young  lady  I  ever  met.  She  sits  in  the  room 
without  ever  speaking  unless  addressed,  and  then 
only  in  the  briefest  manner.  She  might  be  deaf  and 
dumb  for  all  the  evidence  she  usually  gives  to  the 
contrary." 

Morley  stretched  himself  again. 

"  It  will  be  mighty  dull  for  her  husband,  if  she 
doesn't  change,"  he  ventured.  "But,  probably,  when 
she's  married  she'll  go  to  the  opposite  extreme." 

Mark  Melton  sat  upright  in  his  chair. 

"'  Her  husband  ?' "  he  repeated,  hoarsely. 

"  Exactly.  She  doesn't  intend  to  spend  all  her 
life  with  the  half-pay  officer,  does  she  ?  You  don't 
doubt  she'll  get  married,  sometime." 

The  other  exhibited  great  confusion. 

"Oh,  certainly,"  he  stammered. 

Morley  leaned  over  and  rested  his  arms  on  the 
table. 


30  AN   ORIGINAL   SINNER. 

"  Miss  Fuller  will  marry  somebody — let  us  say 70*." 
(He  ignored  the  spasmodic  gesture  with  which  the 
suggestion  was  received.)  "  Now,  after  wedlock  has 
begun,  will  she  remain  as  silent  as  she  now  is  ? 
That  is  a  serious  question.  And  if  she  talks,  what 
sort  of  things  will  she  say?  We  observed  her 
enough  to  know  that  she's  not  intellectual — oh  ! 
don't  think  I  mean  to  criticise  her  for  that — it's  a 
good  thing.  She's  pretty — you  say — and  she's  the 
best  shod  woman  in  Boston — /say — and  what  more 
could  a  reasonable  man  ask  ?" 

A  good  many  ideas  were  roaming  through  Mark's 
head  as  he  listened  to  this  speech,  but  he  found  that 
he  could  give  utterance  to  none  of  them.  It  was 
strange  that  Frank  should  have  guessed  his  secret  so 
quickly,  for  he  did  not  think  he  had  said  anything  to 
reveal  it.  It  was  true  he  was  in  love — very  much  in 
love — with  Miss  Lettie  Fuller,  and  he  played  games 
of  cribbage  with  her  father  for  the  sole  purpose  of 
being  near  the  object  of  his  affection.  He  had  never 
dared  to  hint  the  state  of  his  feelings  to  the  young 
lady,  even  by  so  much  as  a  glance,  and  he  had  no 
reason  to  suppose  that  she  suspected  them.  But  he 
used  to  think  that,  perhaps,  if  he  continued  to  be 
admitted  to  the  house  on  his  present  footing,  and  if 
he  was  lucky  enough  some  day  to  get  a  fair  practice 
in  medicine,  it  would  not  be  impossible  to  muster 
sufficient  courage  to  speak  the  necessary  words  and 
win  that  beautiful  creature  for  his  wife. 

"  I  might  as  well  admit  that  I  like  Miss  Fuller  very 
much,"  he  stammered,  "for  you'll  be  sure  to  find  it 
out.  It's  not  every  fellow  that  I'd  ask  to  go  there, 
but  I'd  like  to  have  you  know  the  Colonel.  You're 
cynical,  and  a  woman-hater,  and  given  to  odd  expres- 


THE  BEST   SHOD   WOMAN   IS  BOSTON.  31 

sions,  but  I'm  sure  you'd  do  anything  to  help  a 
friend." 

The  young  disciple  of  Blackstone  eyed  his  com- 
panion quizzically. 

"  You  bring  a  heavy  indictment  against  me,"  he 
smiled,  "  and  I'm  not  ready  to  plead  guilty  to  all  of 
it.  Am  I  cynical  ?  I  don't  believe  it.  And  a  woman- 
hater?  That  is  certainly  news.  I  think,  on  the  con* 
trary,  that  I  like  the  sex  very  well — always,  be  it 
understood,  at  a  respectful  distance.  They  are 
things  to  which  that  lends  enchantment.  Have  you 
ever  ridden  out  to  the  blue  hills  of  Milton  ?" 

Melton  shook  his  head. 

"  Well,  if  you  ever  do,  you'll  find  them  much 
more  impressive  on  the  road  than  after  your  arrival. 
In  my  walks  about  this  town  I  have  almost  fallen  in 
love  with  many  girls  I've  met.  I  am  not  insensible 
to  beauty.  I  like  color,  pose,  gait,  style.  But  I 
always  feel  that  a  nearer  view  of  my  divinities  would 
result  in  disillusion.  I  have  noticed  that  the  down 
comes  off  the  peach  with  a  very  little  handling  ;  that 
the  rose  on  the  bush  keeps  its  fragrance  much  longer 
than  the  one  worn  in  a  button-hole  or  placed  in  a 
vase.  I  have  even  felt  like  closing  the  apertures  of 
hearing  as  I  neared  these  creatures,  lest  the  first, 
words  I  heard  from  their  lips  might  prick  the  beau- 
tiful bubble  and  scatter  its  prismatic  glories  into  the 
atmosphere." 

Mark  sighed,  as  is  the  habit  of  lovers. 

"  Perhaps  my  sentiment  toward  Miss  Fuller  may 
be  rudely  crushed  like  your  mythical  bubble,"  he 
mused.  "  But  I  shall  hope  to  the  last.  I  am  not  a 
man  to  go  through  life  alone.  As  soon  as  I  feel 
justified  in  asking  her,  I  mean  to  do  so.  In  less  than 


39  AN   ORIGINAL   SINNER. 

a  year  I  shall  be  authorized  to  put  out  my  sign  with 
'  M.D.'  on  it,  and  the  patients  will  have  to  come." 

Morley  thought  his  friend  the  victim  of  a  common 
complaint  of  youth  who  he  would  be  much  better  off 
without.  His  own  life  was  pointless  enough,  but  he 
did  not  see  how  a  partner  that  wore  petticoats  would 
improve  it  any.  Still  he  liked  Mark,  and  he  said  in 
a  good-natured  way  that  he  would  gladly  call  at  the 
Colonel's  with  him  and  do  anything  he  could  to 
further  his  matrimonial  aspirations. 

"Thank  you  !  Thank  you  !  I  knew  you  would  !" 
exclaimed  Melton,  warmly.  "  And  please  don't  say 
anything  again,  when  the  boys  are  here,  about — 
about  her — shoes." 

"  Or  stockings  ?  Certainly  not.  Or  if  I  do,  it  shall 
be  in  the  most  dignified  manner.  I  can't  quite  for- 
get her  position  as  the  best  shod  woman  in  Boston." 

Mark  started  to  reply,  but  thought  better  of  it, 
and  went  out  upon  the  street  with  his  friend.  They 
parted  at  the  corner  of  the  Common,  as  their  paths 
led  in  different  directions  at  that  hour. 

Frank  Morley  strolled  down  to  his  law-office  on 
Court  street,  in  a  brown  study.  This  world  was  a 
great  puzzle  to  him.  He  did  not  know,  on  the  whole, 
as  he  liked  it  very  well.  He  was  really  getting  mis- 
anthropic. 

For  the  rest  of  the  afternoon,  though  his  eyes 
rested  on  the  page  of  the  law  book  he  was  supposed 
to  be  reading,  he  thought  only  of  delicate  boots 
and  tinted  hosiery,  and  a  fair  girlish  face  with  bright 
blue  eyes. 


I   LIKE    ALBERT   BOSS   AND   OU1DA.''  33 


CHAPTER  III. 

"l   LIKE    ALBERT    ROSS   AND   OUIDA." 

It  did  not  need  the  partial  eyes  of  a  lover  to  find 
in  Miss  Lettie  Fuller  more  than  ordinary  attrac- 
tions. Though  twenty  years  of  age  at  the  time 
when  she  is  introduced  to  the  reader,  she  had  still 
that  girlish  form  which  Howells  truly  says  is  the 
divine  right  of  the  American  girl.  Slender  and  ex- 
quisitely moulded,  she  carried  herself  with  perfect 
confidence  and  grace,  and  the  judgment  which  she 
exhibited,  is  not  the  less  remarkable  when  one  re- 
members that  she  had  been  without  a  mother  for 
many  years.  Her  father  appeared  to  have  lost  all 
regard  for  female  society  other  than  her  own.  Being 
left  to  her  own  tastes  in  the  matter  of  dress,  she 
garbed  herself  in  the  fashion  that  suited  her,  and  as 
well  as  the  sum  placed  at  her  disposal  would  per- 
mit. She  did  not  spend,  as  Frank  Morley  had  sug- 
gested, "vast  sums"  on  her  boots,  nor  on  all  of  her 
clothing  combined.  But  her  money  went  a  very 
long  way. 

The  first  thing  that  the  average  novel-reader 
wishes  to  know  about  his  heroine  is  the  color  of  her 
eyes  and  the  tint  of  her  hair.  These  particulars 
when  given  often  convey  very  little  information  of 
her  personality.  There  are  blue  eyes  and  blue  eyes, 
there  is  blonde  hair  and  blonde  hair.  Lettie  Fuller's 
eyes  were  blue  and  her  hair  was  light  in  color,  but 


34  AN   OKIGINAL   SINNER. 

neither  quality  was  exhibited  to  a  striking  degree. 
No  casual  passer  in  the  street  would  have  paused  and 
exclaimed  :  "  What  lovely  eyes  !"  nor,  "  What  mag- 
nificient  hair  !"  They  would,  and  frequently  did 
say,  "What  a  very  pretty  girl !"  but  if  you  had 
asked  them  in  what  her  prettiness  consisted,  they 
might  not  have  been  able  to  answer  you  with  partic- 
ularity, after  she  had  passed  out  of  sight.  Had  they 
been  able  to  spend  five  minutes  in  watching  her 
unobserved  they  would  have  said,  as  a  result  of  their 
inspection,  that  she  dressed  well  ;  that  her  face  was 
of  the  order  called  "  sweet ;"  that  her  complexion 
was  very  pure  indeed,  and  that  her  manners  were 
beyond  praise. 

A  beauty  ?  Not  exactly.  A  hundred  girls  that 
one  might  meet  on  Washington  street,  between 
Boylston  and  School,  would  be  worth  more  to  a 
portrait  artist  who  wanted  to  put  his  work  in  the 
next  exhibition.  She  would  not  have  been  available 
even  to  the  fashion-plate  engravers,  for  she  cared 
little  for  the  latest  modes.  But  something  that 
fascinated  men  she  certainly  was,  though  until  that 
day  when  she  passed  the  rooms  of  the  Revere  Club 
she  had  never  seemed  to  know  it. 

Mr.  Mark  Melton,  the  young  physician  that  was  to 
be,  had  been  the  only  male  visitor  that  entered  her 
father's  abode  on  Shawmut  avenue  since  she  came 
home  from  boarding-school.  Up  to  the  time  of  his 
appearance  her  sole  companions  were  Miss  Bessie 
Bright,  the  niece  of  her  landlady,  a  girl  of  about  her 
own  age,  who  made  her  home  in  the  same  house,  and 
Mrs.  Bright  herself,  one  of  whom  usually  went  out 
with  her  when  she  was  not  accompanied  by  the 
Colonel.  He  had  great  confidence  in  Miss  Bessie. 


"l   LIKE   ALBERT  ROSS   AND   OTJIDA."  35 

He  belonged  to  a  club  of  ex-officers  of  the  army  and 
navy,  at  which  he  passed  a  good  deal  of  his  time, 
and  if  the  girls  were  together  he  was  satisfied. 

Young  Melton's  father  had  served  in  the  volunteer 
service  during  the  civil  war,  and  had  been  slightly 
known  to  Col.  Fuller  at  that  time.  A  rebel  bullet 
laid  him  low  in  the  last  days  of  the  struggle.  Hap- 
pening to  call  at  the  Veteran  Club  one  evening  to 
see  a  member,  Mark  was  introduced  to  Col.  Fuller 
as  a  son  of  Maj.  Melton  of  the  37ist.  No  introduc- 
tion could  have  made  him  more  welcome  to  the  old 
soldier,  who  talked  with  him  for  an  hour  about  the 
battles  in  which  he  had  participated  with  the  lad's 
father,  and  then  invited  him  with  great  cordiality  to 
visit  him  at  his  home.  Had  Mark  known  at  the  time 
that  one  of  the  attractions  of  the  home  was  a  pretty 
daughter,  he  might  have  accepted  the  invitation 
sooner  than  he  did.  But  he  waited  until  he  found 
a  dull  evening  on  his  hands  and  then  bethought 
himself  of  his  promise. 

"  Col.  Fuller  is  out  at  present,  but  Miss  Fuller  is 
in,  if  you  would  like  to  go  up  and  wait,"  said  the 
servant  to  him,  in  answer  to  his  bell. 

Mark  had  never  heard  of  Miss  Fuller,  and  had  an 
idea  at  the  moment  that  the  title  was  probably  borne 
by  some  antiquated  old-maid  sister  of  the  Colonel's 
who  lived  with  him.  He,  however,  responded  that 
he  would  go  up.  He  ascended  two  flights  of  stairs 
and  waited  until  the  domestic  rapped  and  brought 
Miss  Lettie  to  the  portal. 

"  A  gentleman  to  see  your  father.  He  says  he  will 
wait." 

The  surprise  of  the  visitor  was  so  great  that  he 
stood  stupidly  for  an  instant  at  the  threshold,  before 


56  AN  ORIGINAL 

availing  himself  of  the  courteous  permission  to  enter, 
which  the  young  lady  gave  him.  Then  he  stepped 
into  the  little  parlor,  which  was  one  of  the  three 
rooms  that  the  Fullers  occupied,  and  after  giving  his 
hat  to  the  girl,  took  a  chair  near  one  of  the  windows; 

"Was  papa  expecting  you?"  asked  Lettie,  for  it 
was  by  no  means  an  ordinary  thing  to  have  callers 
at  the  house. 

"  Perhaps  not  to-night,"  answered  Mark,  thinking" 
already  that  he  had  never  seen  a  sweeter  looking 
girl.  She  was  dressed  all  in  white,  something  very 
becoming  to  her  as  it  is  to  most  women,  and  her 
hair  was  combed  back  and  hanging  in  one  long 
braid.  "  I  met  him  at  his  club  several  weeks  ago, 
and  he  invited  me  to  come  here  when  I  should  have 
an  opportunity." 

The  girl's  eyes  filled  with  sudden  intelligence. 

"You  must  be  Mr.  Melton,"  she  said. 

"Yes,"  he  replied,  astonished  that  she  should  have 
guessed  so  accurately.  And  thereupon  she  told  him 
that  her  father  had  expected  him  for  a  number  of 
evenings,  and  had  at  last  concluded  that  something 
must  have  called  him  away  from  the  city.  She  said 
this  with  an  air  that  put  him  quite  at  ease,  and  he 
soon  found  himself  talking  to  her  as  if  they  had  not 
met  for  the  very  first  time  in  their  lives  a  few  min- 
utes before. 

"  Papa  thought  a  great  deal  of  Maj.  Melton," 
said  the  girl.  '*  I  think  they  saved  each  other's 
lives,  or  something  of  the  kind.  He  will  be  glad  you 
have  come." 

In  answer  to  a  question  she  said  it  might  be  an 
hour,  perhaps  even  two,  before  her  father  would 
return,  but  that  she  hoped  her  guest  would  be  able 


"l   LIKE   ALBERT   ROSS    AND    OTTIDA."  37 

to  wait,  no  matter  how  late  it  was.  Being  wholly 
contented  with  the  prospect  of  passing  an  evening  in 
such  pleasant  company,  Mark  replied  that  he  should 
certainly  remain.  The  conversation  drifted  at  ran- 
dom upon  various  subjects.  In  the  next  hour  Mark 
learned  how  long  the  Fullers  had  lived  in  Boston, 
and  where  Miss  Lettie  had  attended  school,  as  well 
as  many  other  things  ;  while  he  told  the  girl  con- 
siderable of  his  own  life,  including  the  fact  that  he 
Avas  on  his  last  year  at  the  medical  school  and  intend- 
ed to  set  up  practice  as  soon  as  he  should  graduate. 
As  Mark  was  a  highly  proper  young  man  he  said 
nothing  to  which  the  most  particular  mother  could 
have  objected,  and  the  impression  that  he  made  was,, 
on  the  whole,  a  very  good  one. 

"Will  you  allow  me  to  look  at  the  library?"  hft 
said,  after  the  clock  had  struck  nine.  Receiving  a 
pleasant  affirmative  he  went  over  to  the  bookcase 
and  began  to  scan  the  titles  of  the  volumes.  "  Your 
father  has  good  taste  in  his  selections,"  he  remarked, 
a  moment  later.  "  It  would  not  be  easy  to  get  a 
better  list  into  the  same  space." 

Works  on  the  art  of  war,  military  tactics,  biography, 
history  and  science,  with  encyclopaedias  and  a  very 
few  sets  of  standard  fiction  and  poetry  made  up  the 
two  hundred  volumes. 

"  Don't  you  think  Guizot  reads  like  a  romance  ?" 
he  asked,  presently.  "  He  seems  to  me  a  master  of 
the  art  of  telling  things." 

She  met  the  enthusiastic  look  with  a  rather  blank 
expression. 

"I  have  not  read  him, "she  said,  truthfully.  "I 
never  could  get  interested  in  history.  I  like  novels 
better." 


38  AN  ORIGINAL  SINNEB 

He  was  set  considerably  aback  by  this  confessi*^ 
made  in  the  most  open  manner.  He  had  imagined, 
somehow,  that  the  daughter  of  a  colonel  must  have 
the  highest  tastes  in  the  matter  of  reading.  He 
began  to  fear  that  he  had  taken  a  too  lofty  tone  with 
her  all  the  evening. 

"  Novels  are  interesting,"  he  stammered,  looking 
along  the  shelves.  "  And  there  is  much  to  be 
learned  from  them,  also.  Which  of  Scott's  do  you 
think  best  ?" 

He  was  sure  she  would  say  "  Ivanhoe,"  and  took 
out  that  volume,  prepared  to  agree  with  her. 

"I  haven't  read  Scott,"  she  replied,  "except  a 
little  that  they  made  us  do  at  school.  I  like  Albert 
Ross*  and  Ouida." 

Mark  did  not  know  much  about  young  girls,  but 
!ae  had  a  general  notion  that  their  reading  was  more 
carefully  supervised  than  this.  There  was  no  harm 
in  Albert  Ross,  of  course,  but  of  Ouida  he  had  his 
doubts.  He  remembered  to  have  read  some  of  her 
books,  in  other  years,  that  he  did  not  think  he  would 
have  given  to  his  sister,  if  he  had  had  one.  Young 
Mr.  Melton  had  old-fashioned  notions  on  this  sort  of 
thing,  quite  behind  that  of  the  present  age.  How- 
ever, he  had  only  to  look  at  the  calm  eyes  of  the 
young  woman  before  him  to  feel  sure  that  whatever 
harm  there  might  be  in  such  novels  for  some  people 
there  had  been  none  for  her.  She  told  him  of  her 
favorite  authors  quite  as  if  she  thought  he  would 
approve  them,  and  it  was  not  for  him  to  set  up  as  a 
censor  of  her  reading,  on  such  brief  acquaintance. 

"  I  suppose  you  go  to  the  theatre,"  he  suggested, 
as  he  resumed  his  chair  by  the  window. 
*  This  is  evidently  a  rank  anachronism. — [Electrotyper.] 


"I   LIKE   ALBERT   KOSS   AND   OUIDA."  #&.. 

"  Oh,  yes  !   I  go  nearly  every  week." 

"What  do  you  think  of  Booth's  Othello,  as  com- 
pared to  M'Cullough's  ?" 

Here  at  least  was  something  on  which  they  could 
find  common  ground,  he  fondly  believed.  But  agaU 
he  was  doomed  to  disappointment. 

"  I  can't  bear  tragedy.  I  don't  appreciate  Shakes- 
peare, anyway.  I  did  go  to  see  Rignold  as  Henry  V., 
but  the  "Julius  Caesar  "  with  Barrett  and  Davenport 
tired  me  dreadfully.  Everybody  says  they  can't 
understand  it,"  she  added,  in  deference  to  the  sur- 
prised look  that  he  could  not  conceal,  "but  it's  so. 
I  want  something  lively." 

Realizing  all  at  once  what  a  strange  expression  had 
come  upon  his  face,  Mark  did  his  best  to  obliterate 
it.  He  asked  incidentally  whether  Col.  Fuller's  views 
of  the  drama  coincided  with  those  of  his  daughter. 

"  Oh,  papa  never  goes  with  me,"  she  answered, 
pleasantly.  "He  thinks  all  the  actors  and  actresses 
worth  seeing  died  long  ago.  I  go  always  to  matinees, 
and  Bessie — I  should  say  my  friend,  Miss  Bright, 
who  lives  in  the  house — usually  accompanies  me." 

Melton  was  glad  to  hear  of  Miss  Bright.  He  had 
imagined  for  a  moment  some  masculine  individ- 
ual as  Miss  Fuller's  escort,  when  she  announced  her 
father's  objection  to  the  modern  drama. 

"  She  likes  those  other  plays  better  than  I  do,"  pur- 
sued Miss  Lettie,  feeling  vaguely  that  her  friend  ought 
to  be  relieved  from  the  stigma  that  evidently  rested 
in  the  mind  of  this  caller  against  her  own  theatrical 
tastes.  "  But  she  is  a  good  girl  to  me,  and  when  we 
go  together  she  lets  me  select  the  places.  Her  aunt, 
our  landlady,  goes  with  her  to  see  Booth  and  Barrett 
and  that  kind  of  thing,  so  she  gets  it  all,  eventually.** 


40 

She  smiled  at  this,  and  Mark  smiled,  too.  He 
thought  it  would  not  be  easy  to  criticise  this  young 
creature  to  her  face,  no  matter  how  erroneous  her 
ideas  might  seem  to  him.  She  was  at  least  very 
pretty,  and  he  was  not  disposed  to  demand  too  much 
of  women.  He  would  have  liked  to  find  her  ready 
to  discuss  Guizot  and  Macaulay  and  Keats  and 
Byron,  but  he  was  quite  content  to  speak  of  minor 
matters  with  her,  in  the  enforced  absence  of  these. 
They  went  on  to  talk  of  Boston,  and  the  harbor  and 
suburbs,  with  which  she  was  wholly  familiar,  and  the 
clock  struck  again  before  her  father  came. 

"  I  am  sorry — most  sorry,  I  assure  you,"  were  the 
first  words  with  which  the  Colonel  greeted  him.  "  I 
have  been  doing  nothing  more  interesting  than  to 
take  a  long  ride  on  the  street-cars,  just  to  find  the 
coolest  possible  place  to  spend  the  evening.  I  had 
almost  given  up  expecting  you,  and  feared  you  had 
gone  away  to  spend  the  summer.  How  long  have 
you  been  here  ?" 

Melton  replied  that  it  must  have  been  more  than 
two  hours,  but  he  added  gallantly  that  Miss  Fuller 
had  made  the  time  pass  so  swiftly  that  it  hardly 
seemed  as  if  it  could  have  been  so  long.  Neither  the 
Colonel  nor  his  daughter  gave  the  least  sign  that 
they  noticed  anything  special  in  the  answer,  and  for 
this  Mark  was  immediately  grateful.  The  words 
were  hardly  out  of  his  mouth  before  he  regretted 
them,  as  they  did  not  sound  at  all  as  he  thought 
they  were  going  to. 

"  I  hope  you  are  not  in  a  hurry  now,"  said  the 
Colonel,  "  because  I  want  you  to  play  me  a  hand  at 
cribbage  if  you  have  the  time.  I  never  pay  any 
attention  to  the  time  of  night  when  I  am  at  play 


"l   LIKE   ALBEET   BOSS   AND   OUIDA."  41 

and  I  have  frequently  sat  up  till  morning  in  my 
younger  days.  If  you  can  stay  and  join  me  I  shall 
be  under  obligations." 

Melton  answered  that  he  would  be  pleased  to 
remain  for  the  purpose  indicated.  At  the  same  time 
he  wished  inwardly  that  he  could  have  been  left 
alone  an  hour  or  two  longer  with  the  charming  Miss 
Lettie.  The  cards  were  produced  by  the  young  lady, 
and  the  table  arranged  for  the  players.  As  soon  as 
they  had  begun  their  play  she  wished  them  a  pleas- 
ant good-night,  going  to  her  father's  side  and  kiss- 
ing him  in  a  filial  manner. 

"  Must  you  leave  us  ?"  asked  Mark. 

"Yes,"  her  father  replied  for  her.  "I  think  it  is 
best  for  girls  to  be  early  in  bed.  Don't  you,  Mr. 
Melton  ?  You're  going  to  be  a  doctor,  and  you 
ought  to  have  some  knowledge  on  that  subject." 

Miss  Fuller  was  looking  at  him,  as  well  as  her 
father,  awaiting  his  semi-professional  reply,  and 
Mark  had  an  unpleasant  fear  that  he  was  blushing. 

"  I  suppose  the  old  proverb  of  '  Early  to  bed  and 
early  to  rise,'  is  still  as  good  as  it  ever  was,"  he  re- 
plied, evasively.  "  But — I  only  think  of  that  as 
applied  to  children." 

Col.  Fuller  was  arranging  the  cards,  and  for  a 
second  seemed  lost  in  that  occupation. 

"To  children?"  he  repeated.  "Yes,  that  is  the 
idea.  I  always  send  Lettie  to  bed  by  ten,  if  I  am  at 
home.  Good-night,  dear,"  he  added,  seeing  that 
the  girl  was  waiting.  "  Mr.  Melton,  it  is  your 
play." 

Somewhat  confused  at  having  been  made  to  ap- 
pear as  classifying  this  young  lady  with  the  infant- 
class,  Melton  met  her  eyes  constrainedly,  as  she 


42  AN   ORIGINAL   SINNER. 

bowed  to  him  in  parting.  He  found  in  her  gaze  the 
same  extreme  openness  he  had  noticed  hitherto,  and 
felt  the  final  word  almost  like  a  blow,  as  she  said  to 
him,  "Good-night,  sir."  But  when  the  door  of  the 
inner  sanctuary  had  closed  behind  her,  he  thought 
what  a  dunce  he  was  to  lose  his  head  completely 
over  a  girl  he  had  never  seen  until  that  evening,  and 
he  picked  up  the  cards  that  had  been  dealt  to  him 
and  began  to  pay  due  attention  to  the  game. 

Col.  Fuller  was  an  expert  player,  and  at  first  won 
everything  from  his  young  opponent.  But  Melton, 
finding  the  need  of  exerting  all  his  skill,  which  was 
not  inconsiderable,  roused  himself  and  succeeded  in 
turning  the  scale  so  much  that  he  kept  nearly  even 
with  his  antagonist.  It  was  so  seldom  that  the  Col- 
onel found  a  player  who  was  anything  like  a  fair 
match  for  him  that  his  delight  was  great. 

"  By  George,  you  can  play  !"  he  cried,  as  the 
young  man  won  for  the  third  time.  "  You  get  it 
straight  from  your  father,  the  Major.  On  the  night 
before  the  battle  of  Antietam  we  played  till  the 
cocks  could  be  heard  crowing  in  our  commissary's 
department,  and  I  came  out  only  one  game  ahead. 
Can't  you  stay  for  another  ?  It's  not  very  late. 
Just  one  more,  and  then  we'll  postpone  the  rest  till 
another  evening." 

Melton  willingly  remained  for  the  other,  which 
the  Colonel  won.  Then  he  took  his  hat  and  was 
escorted  to  the  front  door  by  his  host,  everyone  else 
in  the  house  having  long  since  retired  to  rest. 

"  So  you're  going  to  be  a  doctor,  are  you  ?"  said 
the  elder  gentleman,  on  the  door-step.  "  Well,  you 
ought  to  make  a  good  one.  You've  got  a  cool  head. 
Let  me  know  the  next  time  you're  coming,  and  don'r 


"SHE'S    NOT   LIKE    OTHER   GIRLS."  43 

make  it  too  far  off,  either.  It  must  have  been  awful 
dull  for  you,  waiting  here  two  hours  !  I'm  sorry  I 
didn't  know  it,  for  I  could  have  come  home,  just  as 
well  as  not." 

The  young  man  did  not  join  in  this  sentiment. 
Had  it  not  been  that  his  mind  was  full  of  the  fair 
daughter  of  his  host  he  was  sure  he  could  have  won 
much  oftener  than  he  had  at  the  card-table.  Per- 
haps that  would  not  have  been  judicious,  however. 
He  might  have  to  ask  this  man  a  momentous  ques- 
tion one  day,  and  it  would  not  do  to  begin  by 
wounding  his  self-love. 

Melton  resolved  that,  no  matter  how  often  he 
played  with  Col.  Fuller,  he  would  always  let  him 
win  the  majority  of  the  games.  He  had  not  much 
guile  in  him  that  night,  but  he  had  enough  for  that. 


CHAPTER   IV. 

"  SHE'S   NOT    LIKE    OTHER   GIRLS." 

The  games  of  cribbage  had  taken  place  with  con- 
siderable frequency  since  that  first  night  spoken  of 
in  the  preceding  chapter,  up  to  the  time  when  Mark 
Melton  held  the  conversation  with  Frank  Morley  in 
the  rooms  of  the  Revere  Club,  but  never  in  all  that 
interval  had  Mark  found  another  opportunity  to 
speak  with  Miss  Fuller  alone.  The  Colonel  was  too 
fond  of  his  game  to  risk  missing  the  visits  of  his 
young  companion,  and  he  was  always  onhandwhen  he 
arrived.  Miss  Lettie  usually  remained  in  the  room, 
after  arranging  the  cards  and  the  table,  until  ten 


44  AN   ORIGINAL   SINNER. 

o'clock,  when  she  came  to  kiss  her  father  and  to  bid 
him  and  his  guest  good-night.  There  was  no  chance 
to  say  anything  to  her  except  the  most  perfunctory 
things,  and  there  was  nothing  to  imply  that  she 
understood  in  the  least  the  feelings  she  had  aroused 
in  the  breast  of  the  medical  student. 

Lettie  appeared  on  all  occasions  the  very  dutiful 
daughter  of  a  not  over-attentive  father,  ready  to 
obey  his  slightest  nod  and  oblivious  to  all  other  men 
under  the  sun.  Her  garments  were  always  of  the 
type  that  had  attracted  the  attention  of  those 
who  knew  her  for  the  past  three  years.  She  seemed 
to  Mark  a  bright  ray  of  sunshine  in  the  room,  and  he 
thought  the  gas  lamps  hardly  furnished  sufficient 
light  for  the  game  when  she  closed  the  door  of  her 
bed-room  behind  her. 

There  was  no  trouble  in  securing  the  consent  of 
Col.  Fuller  to  inviting  Frank  Morley  for  an  evening's 
chat.  The  only  stipulation  was  that  it  should  not 
take  the  place  of  one  of  the  regular  evenings  devoted 
to  cribbage.  And  it  turned  out,  when  they  were  all 
together,  that  Col.  Fuller  had  heard  of  the  Morleys, 
and  had  a  high  opinion  of  them. 

"  Yes,"  he  said,  "  I  knew  Winthrop  Morley  by  repu- 
tation, years  and  years  ago.  And  so  he  was  your 
father  !  Well,  well  !  Your  mother  is  dead,  you  say. 
Are  you  the  only  child  ?" 

"  No,"  replied  Morley.  "  There  is  one  other,  Clyde, 
who  is  going  to  be  a  clergyman,  I  think." 

Miss  Lettie  was  not  visible.  Frank  wondered  if 
she  had  been  purposely  spirited  away  on  his  account, 
and  he  made  a  facial  inquiry  of  Melton  to  this  effect. 

"  A  clergyman  !"  echoed  the  Colonel.  "  It  doesn't 
seem  possible,  in  these  times,  that  young  men  are 


"  SHE'S   NOT   LIKE   OTHER   GIRLS."  45 

really  entering  that  profession.  It  is  like  hearing  of 
a  woman  learning  to  spin,  with  the  view  of  follow- 
ing it  for  a  livelihood.  The  church  is  not  a  modern 
institution.  Hardly  anybody  believes  in  its  authority. 
I  had  an  idea  that  the  ministers  were  gradually 
dying  off,  and  that  the  whole  thing  would  come  to 
an  end  with  this  generation." 

Frank  laughed  good-humoredly. 

"  I'd  like  to  sit  by  and  hear  you  tell  that  to  Clyde," 
said  he.  "  Why,  religion  is  as  real  to  him  as  the  air 
he  breathes.  He  turns  to  the  Bible  as  we  do  in 
my  profession  to  the  books  of  common  law,  and  his 
commentators  are  as  sacred  to  him  as  Blackstone  or 
Coke  is  to  us." 

The  Colonel  shifted  in  his  chair. 

"But  it's  damned  nonsense!"  he  exclaimed, 
bluntly.  "It's  an  old,  played-out  fable,  the  whole 
business.  I'll  sit  down  with  him,  and  if  he's  amen- 
able to  reason  I'll  show  him  in  half  an  hour  that 
there's  not  a  bit  of  truth  from  Genesis  to  Revelation. 
What's  the  use  of  putting  those  old  manuscripts 
against  the  discoveries  of  modern  science  ?  When 
it's  been  proved  beyond  a  doubt  that  this  world  was 
hundreds  of  centuries  in  growing,  how  can  a  man 
stand  up  in  a  pulpit  and  repeat  the  barbaric  conceit 
of  a  six  days'  creation  ?  Who  that  has  studied 
astronomy  even  in  a  high  school  is  going  to  believe 
that  a  planet  was  held  suspended  for  hours  without 
pursuing  the  revolutions  that  maintain  the  equilib- 
rium of  all  the  solar  system  ?  And  if  one  story  is 
false  they  all  are.  A  discredited  witness  on  one 
point  wastes  his  time  before  any  sensible  jury." 

"  Oh,  Clyde  doesn't  mind  the  Old  Testament  scf 
much,"  explained  Frank.  "  He  says  that's  a  second* 


46  AN   OBIGINAL    SINNER. 

ary  consideration.  It's  the  Atonement  that  he  lays 
all  his  stress  on." 

The  military  gentleman  fairly  snorted  with  disgust. 

"  The  biggest  yarn  of  the  whole  !"  he  replied.  "  I 
tell  you  nobody  takes  any  stock  in  it  in  these  days 
except  old  women  and  children.  I  am  sorry,  Mr. 
Morley,  that  a  brother  of  as  intelligent  a  young  man 
as  you  should  waste  his  life  in  trying  to  make  people 
swallow  absurdities.  Here  comes  my  daughter,"  he 
added,  as  the  door  opening  into  the  hallway  was 
pushed  ajar.  "  Lettie,  this  is  Mr.  Frank  Morley,  a 
friend  of  Mr.  Melton's." 

The  religious  discussion  gave  way  before  the  more 
pressing  emergency,  as  both  the  young  men  rose  to 
welcome  Miss  Fuller.  The  young  lady  bowed  to 
each  in  the  most  unconstrained  manner,  and  then 
spoke  to  her  father  about  some  errand  that  he  had 
bade  her  attend  to.  Next  she  removed  her  hat,  and 
sat  down  at  a  little  distance  from  the  group,  evi- 
dently thinking  that  their  personal  interest  in  her 
was  ended. 

Col.  Fuller  had  never  realized  that  his  daugh- 
ter had  grown  out  of  her  childhood.  She  was  twenty 
years  of  age,  but  to  him  there  was  no  difference 
between  now  and  ten  years  ago.  She  had  been 
taught  as  a  little  girl  to  remain  quiet  when  others 
were  present,  and  the  same  rule  prevailed  still. 
"  Do  not  speak  unless  you  are  spoken  to,"  was  one  of 
the  earliest  mottoes  she  remembered,  and  there  had 
been  no  countermanding  of  the  order.  Miss  Lettie 
lived  under  military  discipline,  and  she  never 
dreamed  of  mutiny. 

Frank  Morley  had  come  to  this  house  for  the  sole 
purpose  of  studying  this  girl,  but  he  had  no  inten- 


"  SHE'S    NOT    LIKE    OTHER    GIRLS."  47 

tion  of  attempting  to  "  draw  her  out,"  too  soon.  He 
preferred  to  see  her  in  her  natural  environment, 
knowing  that  he  could  judge  her  better  thus.  He 
had  already  seen  that  her  father  was  a  man  of  dog- 
matic temperament,  and  he  suspected  the  nature  of 
his  rule  over  the  daughter  from  the  first.  So  he 
went  on,  leading  the  conversation  from  one  thing  to 
another,  carefully  watching  Miss  Lettie's  face,  from 
time  to  time,  as  opportunity  served.  And  he  did  more 
— he  let  his  glances  fall  upon  the  dainty  gray  slippers 
that  she  wore  and  the  light  gray  hosiery  that  peeped 
out  from  under  her  chambray  skirt. 

"  The  best  shod  woman  in  Boston." 

Yes,  she  was  all  that  and  more.  The  best  shod 
woman  in  the  world,  according  to  his  belief.  And 
he  fell  to  thinking  that  something  had  conspired  to 
effect  this  result  more  than  the  mere  art  of  the  shoe- 
maker. There  was  an  exquisite  little  foot  inside 
that  boot,  unless  he  was  much  mistaken.  The  arched 
instep  of  the  leather  must  have  its  counterpart  in 
flesh  and  blood  beneath.  Very  tiny  the  feet  must  be 
that  could  find  room  in  such  little  boots.  She  had  the 
prettiest  feet  in  Boston,  as  well  as  the  taste  to  cover 
them  in  the  most  attractive  manner. 

To  Frank  Morley  this  was  nothing  less  than  high 
art.  He  could  study  the  anatomy  of  a  pretty  foot 
with  the  same  enthusiasm  that  another  might  have 
given  to  a  seashell  or  a  mountain  flower.  As  Miss 
Lettie  leaned  back  in  her  chair  the  young  student 
did  not  neglect  his  opportunities. 

He  was  a  sort  of  amateur  connoisseur  in  the 
matter  of  women,  this  quiet  fellow,  who  was  so  little 
understood  by  the  men  who  thought  they  knew  him 
best.  Between  the  sentences  that  he  spoke  that  even- 


48  AN   ORIGINAL   SINNER. 

ing — and  the  conversation  never  flagged — he  was 
making  mental  calculations  that  referred  wholly  to 
the  daughter  of  his  host.  He  was  taking  a  physical 
inventory  of  her. 

"  She  weighs,"  he  was  saying  to  himself,  "  let  me 
see — about  a  hundred  and  twenty  pounds.  Her 
height,  as  well  as  I  can  guess,  is  five  feet  two. 
Her  proportions  must  be  well  nigh  perfect,  taken 
from  the  artistic  standpoint.  Decidedly,  Melton 
might  do  much  worse." 

Then  he  regarded  the  book  that  she  had  in 
her  hand,  and  which,  while  not  reading,  she  was 
examining  from  time  to  time.  The  cover  was  of 
paper — not  cloth — and  its  color  was  yellow.  What 
is  there  about  yellow  that  demoralizes  the  contents 
of  any  book  ?  If  Bulwer's  novels  were  to  be  issued 
in  yellow  covers  I  think  they  would  take  on  the 
quality  that  seems  inseparable  from  that  shade. 
When  Morley  saw  the  color  of  the  cover  he  did  not 
try  to  discover  the  title.  He  had  glanced  at  the 
bookcase  in  the  room,  and  at  the  centre  table,  and 
saw  that  some  of  the  best  things  in  literature  were 
there.  And  she  had  selected  a  yellow  novel.! 

However,  this  did  not  annoy  him.  He  had  ideas 
of  his  own  about  such  things.  He  had  meant  it 
when  he  said  to  Melton  at  the  club  window  :  "  She's 
not  intellectual — that's  a  good  thing."  She  must 
read,  and  the  sort  of  story  that  is  found  between 
yellow  covers  would  not  be  likely  to  spoil  her  beauty. 
He  knew,  though  Oscar  Wilde  had  not  yet  put  the 
idea  into  words,  that  too  much  thought  is  apt  to 
make  deadly  war  on  regularity  of  feature  and  clear- 
ness of  complexion. 

At  the  usual  hour  Miss  Lettie  rose  with  prompt- 


"SHE'S   NOT   LIKE    OTHEB   GIBLS."  49 

ness  to  bid  all  good-night.  There  seemed  some- 
thing very  strange  in  the  manner  with  which  she 
kissed  her  father  before  the  others,  just  as  a  child  of 
ten  might  have  done,  and  Morley  found  in  it  a 
refreshing  novelty.  He  closed  his  eyes  for  an  instant 
as  the  girl's  ripe  lips  touched  the  bronzed  cheek  of 
the  old  soldier,  but  he  opened  them  again  without 
attracting  attention  and  gave  her  a  dignified  reply 
to  her  simple  adieu.  After  she  was  gone  he  found 
that  the  time  dragged  slowly,  for  he  had  little  interest 
in  the  things  the  Colonel  was  saying,  and  he  was 
glad  when  the  time  came  for  departure. 

"  Come  again,  Mr.  Morley,"  said  Col.  Fuller,  at  the 
door.  "  I  shall  always  be  glad  to  see  you.  I  have 
known  of  your  family  for  many  years.  Bring  along 
the  clergyman,  too,"  he  added,  laughing  grimly, 
"that  I  may  cross  swords  with  him." 

"If  he'll  consent,  I'll  be  glad  to,"  smiled  Frank. 
"  As  for  myself,  I  assure  you  I  shall  not  allow  you 
to  forget  me." 

As  soon  as  they  were  around  the  corner  Mark 
spoke. 

"  Well,  how  do  you  find  Miss  Fuller  on  nearer  ac- 
quaintance ?" 

"  Pretty  and  charming.  Of  course,  I'd  rather  get 
the  sound  of  her  voice  a  little  more.  It  is  not 
quite  enough  to  hear  'good-evening'  and  'good- 
night.' But  I'm  sure  she  is  very  sweet  and  I'm 
almost  disposed  to  envy  you." 

Mark  Melton  started. 

"  I  need  only  your  pity,  not  your  envy,"  he  said,  as 
he  caught  the  idea  conveyed  in  his  friend's  remark. 
"  I  have  never  had  a  word  in  private  with  her  since 
the  first  evening  I  called  there,  four  months  ago,  and 


50  AN   ORIGINAL   SINNEB. 

if  I  had  I  don't  know  as  I  should  be  able  to  say  any* 
thing.  She's  not  like  other  girls,  you  can  see  that. 
Though  she's  certainly  nineteen,  in  thought  she's  but 
a  child.  You  notice  the  way  she  treats  her  father,  and 
ho>v  he  acts  toward  her.  I  fear  it  would  strike  both 
of  them  as  preposterous  if  any  man  should  talk  of 
taking  her  away,  and  I  don't  believe  I  shall  ever 
have  the  courage  to  try  it." 

Morley  laughed  ;  a  low,  gurgling  laugh  that  ha 
affected. 

"  If  /  wanted  her,"  said  he,  "TV  find  a  way.  You 
must  pluck  up  heart,  old  man.  Someone  else  will 
get  her,  if  you  don't." 

Melton  looked  at  him  gratefully. 

"  I  knew  you  wouldn't  want  her,  Frank.  Why  is  it 
you  never  do  want  a  woman  ?  Are  you  going  to  live 
all  your  life  a  bachelor  ?" 

The  other  man  grew  more  sober. 

"I  think  that's  the  way  the  fates  have  marked  it 
out,"  he  said.  "  I  wouldn't  make  agood  husband.  And 
it's  not  that  I  don't  like  women,  as  you  seem  to  think. 
No,  it's  because  I  like  them  too  well.  I  can't  think 
of  confining  my  attentions — even  my  eyesight — to  any 
single  one  of  the  fascinating  creatures.  Now,  you're 
quite  different  in  your  make-up.  You'd  marry  that 
pretty  piece  of  Dresden  china  there  and  never  look 
at  another  bit  of  bric-a-brac,  if  you  lived  a  century." 

Melton  bowed  in  cordial  assent. 

"Yes,  I  would,"  he  said,  gravely. 

"  Well,  if  you  want  her,  you  must  have  her,"  con- 
tinued Morley,  with  an  air  of  conviction.  "  The 
greatest  pleasure  of  life  is  in  wanting  tilings  and  get- 
ting them.  An  appetite  and  something  to  eat  are  said 
by  men  of  your  profession  to  be  the  two  great  de- 


"SHE'S   NOT    LIKE    OTHER    GIKLS."  51 

siderata.  Neither  is  very  valuable  if  taken  without 
the  other.  You  want  the  Colonel's  pretty  daughter. 
I  don't  say  it  is  a  sensible  desire,  and  I  don't  say  it's 
not.  The  point  \n  my  mind  is  merely  that  you  have 
the  want  and  must  gratify  it.  We  will  sit  down  to- 
gether to-morrow,  and  get  up  a  plan  to  move  imme- 
diately upon  her  intrenchments.  They  will  be 
guarded  by  her  military  papa,  well  versed,  as  one 
might  suppose,  in  the  science  of  defense,  but  we  will 
carry  them,  nevertheless." 

The  student  looked  up  gratefully. 

"You  are  very  kind,  Frank.  You  have  put  cour- 
age into  my  heart.  But  let  us  not  wait  until  to-mor- 
row. Give  me  some  idea  now  that  will  send  me  to 
my  room  with  new  hope." 

It  was  a  very  serious  matter  to  him,  and  the  good- 
nature of  his  companion  was  affected  instantly. 

"Well,  my  boy,  let  us  see.  The  main  thing  is  a 
beginning.  Now,  is  it  wiser  to  win  the  heart  of  the 
girl,  and  try  to  get  the  father's  consent  afterwards, 
or  to  train  all  our  guns  upon  the  colonel  and  trust 
to  Miss  Lettie's  obeying  him,  as  she  is  evidently  in 
the  habit  of  doing  without  protest." 

"  I  would  never  marry  her  unless  she  had  learned 
to  care  for  me,"  said  Melton,  earnestly.  "  We  should 
have  to  wait  a  long  time,  I  fear,  at  the  best.  I  can- 
not think  of  a  wife  until  I  begin  to  do  something 
at  my  profession,  say  in  two  years  or  so.  All  I  hope 
for  now  is  to  gain  a  sort  of  foothold — to  let  her 
understand  my  sentiments.  I  am  willing  to  endure 
delay,  but  I  want  something  to  encourage  me." 

Morley  bowed  with  satisfaction. 

"  In  that  case  some  way  must  be  devised  of  getting 
the  idea  into  the  girl's  head  that  you  care  for  her. 


52  AN   ORIGINAL   SINNEK. 

That  will  make  it  safe  for  you  to  wait,  when  she  has 
begun  to  reciprocate,  you  know.  As  for  the  pater, 
he  likes  you  already.  Keep  up  your  cribbage  and 
you'll  have  him  solid.  When  the  final  crash  comes, 
offer  him  a  corner  in  your  mansion  where  he  and 
you  can  keep  on  with  the  cards.  Now,  how  can  we 
get  into  communication  with  Miss  Lettie  ?  I  have  a 
plan.  What's  the  name  of  the  girl  you  told  me  she 
chums  with  ?  Bright,  Bessie  Bright,  that's  it.  I 
will  get  acquainted  with  Bessie." 

He  looked  so  confident  that  he  had  hit  on  a  feas- 
ible scheme  that  Melton  hesitated  before  he  asked 
him  how  he  was  going  to  manage  it. 

"  I  don't  exactly  know,  myself,"  replied  Frank, 
with  another  laugh.  "  Probably,  I  shall  have  to  take 
a  room  there.  I  haven't  the  bashfulness  with  which 
you  credit  me,  and  if  I  want  to  get  on  speaking 
terms  with  anyone  it  doesn't  take  long  to  accom- 
plish it.  I  will  ask  my  friend  Bessie — " 

"  Your  friend  ?" 

"  My  friend  that  is  to  be." 

"  Oh  !" 

"  I  will  ask  her  all  about  Miss  Fuller,  and  her 
habits  of  going  and  coming,  and  the  first  you  know, 
we  shall  all  meet — accidentally — and  you  will  have 
the  opportunity  to  begin  your  suit.  Then  I  shall  be 
able,  from  time  to  time,  to  give  you  a  lift  by  sound- 
ing your  praises,  which  I  cat?  surely  do  with  a  good 
conscience.  She — Bessie — will  repeat  what  I  tell 
her  to  Miss  Lettie,  and  the  seed  will  begin  to  take 
root." 

Melton  was  cheered  by  these  expressions,  for  they 
showed  that  Frank  was  disposed  to  aid  him,  and  he 
wanted  his  help  very  much.  The  friends  parted  at 


"SHE'S   NOT    LIKE    OTHER   GIRLS."  53 

the  corner  of  Tremont  street  and  West  Chester 
Park,  agreeing  to  meet  on  the  following  day  at  the 
Revere  Club. 

Morley  felt  that  his  reputation  as  a  prophet  de- 
pended on  his  carrying  out  the  plan  which  he  had 
outlined  to  Mark,  and  on  the  second  day  after  the 
suggestion  he  rang  the  bell  at  the  house  on  Shawmut 
avenue,  and  inquired  for  Miss  Bessie  Bright.  When 
that  young  lady  appeared,  he  begged  pardon  for 
troubling  her,  mentioned  the  names  of  the  Fullers 
as  slight  acquaintances  of  his,  and  asked  whether 
there  were  any  vacant  lodgings  to  let. 

There  were  not,  to  his  relief,  for  he  did  not  want 
to  establish  himself  on  the  premises,  if  he  could  help 
it.  But  he  managed  to  prolong  his  stay  for  fifteen 
or  twenty  minutes,  and  to  make  himself  agreeable  to 
the  young  lady  during  that  time.  He  spoke  of  in- 
tending to  call  on  the  Colonel,  but  was  informed 
that  the  gentleman  had  gone  out  some  minutes 
earlier,  a  fact  of  which  he  was  very  well  aware,  hav- 
ing waited  in  the  vicinity  till  this  occurred  before  he 
presented  himself. 

"Miss  Lettie  is  in, "said  Bessie,  glad  to  impart  any 
information  to  so  polite  a  young  man.  "And  if  you 
like  I  will  tell  her  that  you  are  here." 

"Oh,  no,"  said  he,  lightly.  "I  could  not  think  of 
troubling  you.  I  can  call  at  any  time.  However," 
— he  hesitated — "  if  she  likes  to  come  down  here  a 
moment  just  to  receive  my  regrets  at  missing  her 
father—" 

Bessie  said  she  would  call  her,  and  retired  to  do 
so.  Presently  the  girls  returned  together,  and  Lettie 
recognized  Mr.  Morley  with  a  pleased  smile. 

Then  there  seemed  sufficient  excuse  for  ten  min- 


AN   ORIGINAL    SINNER. 

utes  more  of  casual  talk,  and  feeling  that  she  was  in 
a  manner  introduced  now  to  this  agreeable  stranger, 
Miss  Bessie  thought  she  would  be  glad  to  meet  him 
again.  She  said  perhaps  one  of  the  rooms  would  be 
vacant  in  the  course  of  a  few  weeks,  as  a  lodger 
talked  of  moving ;  and  Frank  said  he  should  cer- 
tainly call  to  ascertain. 

In  the  presence  of  her  friend,  Miss  Lettie  remained 
nearly  as  taciturn  as  in  that  of  her  father,  but  Miss 
Bessie  talked  freely  enough  to  make  up  for  it.  She 
was  a  typical  New  England  girl,  afraid  of  nothing 
under  heaven,  and  vivacious  to  a  degree. 

Upon  the  strength  of  Bessie's  invitation  Frank 
Morley  came  to  the  house  several  times  during  the 
next  month,  always  when  the  Colonel  happened  to 
be  out.  And  thinking  it  more  proper  than  to  be 
alone  with  him,  Miss  Bright  usually  went  up  to  get 
Lettie  to  join  the  party. 

Frank  was  certainly  making  rapid  progress— in  the 
interest  of  his  friend. 


CHAPTER  V. 

THE   LAWS  OF    HEREDITY. 

The  humorist  as  well  as  the  chief  cynic  of  the 
Revere  Club  was  Silas  Clarke,  the  tall,  lanky  fellow 
attached  to  the  staff  of  the  Evening  Sphere.  A  good 
deal  of  his  wit  was  at  the  expense  of  Charlie  Wilkins, 
though  there  was  a  sort  of  friendship  between  the 
men,  quite  at  variance  with  their  extremely 


THE    LAWS   OF   HEREDITY.  55 

opposite  natures  and  circumstances.  Wilkins,  who 
had  inherited  money,  was  provided  abundantly  with 
the  necessary  funds  to  make  life  comfortable. 
Clarke  found  his  twenty  dollars  a  week  pretty  short 
commons.  Wilkins  was  always  dressed  in  the 
height  of  fashion,  if  not  beyond  it.  Clarke's  clethes 
wore  the  appearance  of  having  been  made  a  long 
time  ago  for  some  other  man.  Wilkins,  while  by  no 
means  a  fool,  was  an  easy  butt  for  those  of  his 
acquaintances  who  wanted  to  amuse  themselves. 
Clarke  was  suspicious  of  pitfalls  and  seldom  caught 
napping.  If  Clarke  was  short  of  money  towards  the 
latter  end  of  a  week — and  he  usually  was — Wilkins 
was  always  ready  to  "  lend  "  him  some.  If  Charlie 
discovered,  long  after  everybody  else,  that  Clarke 
had  been  making  a  guy  of  him,  he  forgave  the  joker 
with  the  best  humor  and  fell  just  as  easily  into  the 
next  snare  set  for  his  feet. 

Wilkins'  chief  weakness  was  a  desire  to  get 
married  to  about  every  pretty  girl  he  met.  He  had 
confided  his  partiality  for  several  girls,  one  after 
another,  to  his  friend  Clarke,  and  was  indebted  to 
him  for  the  fact  that  he  still  remained  a  bachelor. 
Clarke  had  a  notion,  aside  from  his  tendency  to  find 
a  joke  in  everything,  that  Charlie  would  be  of  much 
more  use  to  him  if  he  remained  in  a  single  state,  and 
determined  to  keep  him  out  of  matrimony  as  long 
as  possible. 

"It's  a  damned  important  thing,  this  getting 
married,"  said  Silas  to  him,  one  day,  at  the  club, 
when  the  rest  of  the  boys  were  out.  "A  man  must 
think  of  a  good  many  things  except  his  own  taste 
and  fancy.  Really  he  is  about  the  last  person  whose 
pleasure  should  be  consulted." 


56  AN   ORIGINAL    SINNEB. 

"  Gwa-cious  ! "  exclaimed  Charlie,  struck  with 
astonishment. 

"The  present  system  is  all  wrong,"  pursued 
Clarke,  delighted  at  the  close  attention  he  was  re- 
ceiving. "  It  is  left  to  the  man  to  propose.  Tha 
initiative  and  referendum,  as  they  say  in  Switzerland, 
are  entirely  with  him.  Now  you  will  readily  see 
that  it  ought  to  rest  with  the  woman.  She  is  the 
one  who  has  got  to  stand  or  fall  by  the  bargain. 
And  there  are  others  too  seldom  considered — the 
prospective  children." 

Wilkins  uttered  another  exclamation. 

"  You  had  not  thought  of  them  !"  said  Clarke, 
dryly.  "  No,  I  will  wager  not.  Do  you  ever  think 
of  anything?  What  did  you  imagine  marriage  to 
be,  a  picnic  ?  Did  you  have  an  impression  that  it 
was  a  sort  of  clambake,  with  watermelon  and  green 
corn  ad  libitum  ?  I  am  ashamed  of  you,  Mr. 
Wilkins  !  " 

Whenever  Clarke  got  so  far  as  to  apply  the  word 
"  Mister  "  to  his  friend,  Charlie  always  fell  into  the 
deepest  melancholy. 

"  Now  this  girl  that  you  called  my  attention  to 
this  morning,"  Clarke  went  on,  with  an  air  of  re- 
proach. "  Of  what  nationality,  what  race  is  she  ? 
Did  you  pause  to  consider  that  question  at  all  ?  Did 
you  reflect  on  anything  except  the  condition  of  your 
pulse  ?  You  are  an  American,  brought  op  after  the 
manner  of  your  countrymen.  She  is  a  Jewess. 
Don't  tell  me  you  didn't  know  it." 

Wilkins  stammered  that  he  did  know  it,  and  knew 
it  very  well,  but  that  she  was  unusually  pretty  and 
well  bred. 

"  Pretty    and  well  bred  !"  echoed    Clarke,  scorn* 


THE    LAWS   OF    HEREDITY.  57 

fully.  "  That  is  a  great  consideration,  isn't  it  ? 
Have  you  studied  the  laws  of  heredity,  Mr.  Wilkins? 
Are  you  aware  that  your  sons,  should  you  marry 
this  woman,  would  be  Sheeneys  ?" 

"  Bali  Jove  !  "  uttered  Charlie,  growing  faint. 

"  Have  you  reflected  that,  notwithstanding  the 
beauty  of  the  mother,  these  sons  of  yours  might  and 
probably  would  have  hooked  noses  and  round 
shoulders  ?  Are  you  aware  that  in  consummating 
such  a  union  you  would  doom  yourself  to  become 
the  father  of  old-clothes  merchants  and  peripatetic 
peddlers  ?  Of  course  you  have  not  given  that  little 
matter  any  thought !  And  as  children  almost 
invariably  follow  the  religion  of  their  mothers* 
would  it  not  be  agreeable  to  listen  to  the  wails  of 
your  boys  as  they  were  subjected  to  the  rite  of 
Moses  before  a  large  and  interested  congregation  ?" 

"  Howible  !"  came  from  the  shaking  auditor. 

"'Abraham  Wilkins!'  ' Lew  Wilkins!'  'Moses 
Wilkins!'"  pursued  the  tormentor.  "How  nice 
those  names  would  sound  !  She  would  present  you 
with  at  least  a  dozen  of  them,  for  the  fecundity  of 
Jewesses  is  well  known.  Then  her  relations  would 
throng  your  house  at  the  ten  thousand  feasts  of 
your  wife's  church — Isaac,  Simeon,  Noah,  and  the 
rest,  until  you  couldn't  tell  whether  you  were  in 
Boston  or  Jerusalem  !" 

From  the  pale  lips  there  issued  a  murmur  of  pro- 
test. 

"  Shall  I  go  on  ?"  demanded  Clarke. 

"Oh,  no!     Thede-vil!" 

*'  This  will  be  the  first  and  last  chapter  of  Hebrews 
for  you,  I  hope,"  continued  Silas,  with  severity. 
"Supposing  you  had  not  happened  to  confide  in  me, 


58  AN   ORIGINAL   8INNEK. 

but  had  gone  on  and  married  this  girl  ?  Take  warn- 
ing and  never  follow  your  inclinations,  for  they  will 
certainly  lead  you  to  sheol !" 

"  Oh-me-Gard  !" 

The  entrance  of  Frank  Morley,  Mark  Melton  and 
several  other  members  of  the  club,  put  a  stop  to  this 
conversation.  Wilkins'  depressed  appearance  was 
noticed,  but  several  sly  winks  from  Silas  prevented 
the  asking  of  any  questions  at  that  time.  Lunches 
were  ordered  and  other  subjects  were  debated  around 
the  tables.  The  recuperative  powers  of  Wilkins  were 
so  great  that  in  the  course  of  five  minutes  he 
appeared  to  have  forgotten  the  beautiful  Jewess  for 
whom  he  felt  quite  willing  to  die  that  morning.  He 
ate  as  heartily  as  the  others,  and  even  entered  into 
their  discussions  with  his  ordinary  interest. 

"  Where's  that  preacher-brother  you  were  telling 
us  about?"  asked  Clarke  of  Morley,  who  had  taken  a 
seat  at  table  exactly  opposite  to  him.  "  I'm  dying 
to  see  that  fellow." 

"  He's  coming  to  Boston  some  time  this  winter," 
replied  Frank,  calmly.  "You'll  have  a  chance  to 
argue  all  you  like,  then.  But  he'll  floor  you.  He's 
got  the  alpha  and  omega  of  theology  at  the  ends  of 
his  fingers." 

"Strange  what  a  difference  there  can  be  in  broth- 
ers !"  interposed  the  young  man  from  the  leather- 
store  on  High  street." 

Morley  ignored  the  covert  sarcasm. 

"Yes,"  he  answered,  "Clyde  and  I  are  not  much 
alike,  except  in  personal  appearance." 

Wilkins'  thoughts  were  back  for  a  moment  to  the 
subject  of  heredity,  which  had  interested  him 
immensely. 


THE    LAWS   OF   HEREDITY.  59 

"  I  think  that's  the  stwan-gest  thing,"  he  drawled. 
"  Being  born  of  one  mo-ther  at  one  ti-me,  a  fellow 
would  think  you  ought  £to  be  exact  pa-wallels  in 
ev-\vything." 

Morley  bowed  assent  to  the  proposition. 

"  Nature's  a  queer  old  lady,"  said  he.  "  She 
seems  to  take  delight  in  contrasts.  Now,  Clyde 
thinks  he  was  sent  upon  this  earth  to  regenerate  it. 
All  the  sins  and  woes  of  mankind  bear  on  his  indi- 
vidual frame.  His  twin  brother  thinks  it  quite 
enough  to  look  out  for  No.  i.  He  goes  through 
life  with  his  eyes  fixed  on  the  ground,  while  I — " 

"  Raise  them  at  least  to  the  height  of  a  pretty  girl's 
boots,"  laughed  Clarke.  "  I  haven't  forgotten  the 
day  you  showed  us  '  the  best  shod  woman  in  Boston." 
And  I  know  now  who  she  is,  too,  for  I  reported  a 
military  ball  the  other  night  at  which  she  danced 
with  her  father.  Yes,"  he  added,  pleased  at  having 
attracted  the  attention  of  everyone  in  the  room, 
"  and  quite  as  pretty  I  found  her  on  a  nearer  view  as 
she  appeared  on  the  sidewalk.  But  my  opportunity 
to  observe  her  was  cut  short  by  her  departure  before 
eleven  o'clock  with  another  pretty  girl  who  had 
come  for  her  in  a  carriage.  However,  I  got  intro- 
duced to  the  old  man,  and  made  the  best  impression 
I  could  on  him." 

He  intimated  so  much  more  than  he  said  that  the 
hearers  grew  quite  envious  of  him,  at  least  all  but 
two,  who  had  much  stronger  feelings.  And  one 
remarked  audibly  that  no  one  had  quite  the  oppor- 
tunities of  a  newspaper  man,  who  could  go  every- 
where and  meet  everybody. 

"In  personal  appearance,  as  I  was  saying,"  said 
Morley,  to  put  a  stop  to  this>  "  there  is  a  strong 


60  AN  ORIGINAL  SINNER. 

resemblance  between  me  and  my  brother.  So  much, 
in  fact,  that  we  have  been  mistaken  for  each  other. 
Clyde  was  asked  one  day  on  a  railroad  train  to  take 
a  hand  at  a  game  of  euchre,  which  he  would  not 
have  touched  for  his  life  ;  and  the  last  time  I  was  at 
home,  I  was  requested  to  lead  in  prayer  at  a  church 
meeting." 

This  was  considered  sufficiently  funny  to  draw  a 
laugh  from  everyone  present.  The  conversation, 
however,  soon  took  another  turn,  and  when  Morley 
and  Melton  had  finished  their  lunch  they  strolled 
down  the  street  together. 


CHAPTER   VI. 

"I    LOVE    YOUR    DAUGHTER." 

The  month  was  October.  As  they  reached  tha 
Common  a  gust  of  autumn  wind  blew  around  them 
the  first  dry  leaves  of  the  elms.  It  was  chilly  and 
the  pedestrians  whom  they  met  walked  rapidly. 

"  How  many  times  have  you  met  her  now  ?" 
asked  Mark,  anxiously. 

"  Four,"  replied  Morley,  with  a  smile.  "  I  am  a 
welcome  visitor,  if  I  am  any  judge.  And  so  would 
you  be  if  you  were  not  so  dreadfully  afraid  of  your- 
self. I  thought,  that  time  you  called  there  with  me, 
you  would  faint  away  before  I  got  you  out  again." 

Melton  looked  discouraged. 

"  I  know  I  acted  like  a  dunce,"  he  admitted,  "  but 
you  are  so  perfectly  easy  under  all  circumstances 


*I   LOVE   YOtTR   DAUGHTEB."  61 

that  your  presence  makes  me  the  more  constrained. 
I  talked  well  enough  with  her  the  first  time  I  called, 
but  then  I  had  not  conceived  the  idea  of  trying  to 
make  her  mine  for  life." 

"All  the  more  reason  why  you  should  brace  up 
now/'  laughed  Morley.  "You  will  have  to  do  your 
own  proposing.  I  have  succeeded  in  establishing  a 
foothold  at  Miss  Bessie's  through  which  I  can  bring 
you  into  the  presence  of  your  loved  one,  but  it  is  for 
you  to  do  the  rest.  Miss  Fuller's  case  is  different 
from  any  other  that  I  have  ever  known.  She  does 
not  guess  in  advance  what  one  is  going  to  say.  It  is 
easy  to  see  that  her  heart  and  her  experiences  are 
entirely  virgin.  I  tried  to  hint  to  her  something  of 
the  state  of  your  feelings,  the  last  time  I  was  there, 
and  she  did  not  seem  to  understand  me  in  the  least. 
You  will  have  to  put  on  a  very  different  front  from 
your  present  one,  if  you  expect  to  gain  any  standing 
in  that  quarter.  I  am  not  sure,  after  all,  but  your 
best  course  is  to  go  direct  to  the  Colonel.  She  is 
such  a  dutiful  child,  she  will  do  anything  he  tells 
her.  If  he  says,  '  My  dear,  you  will  please  marry 
Mr.  Melton,*  it  will  be  quite  the  same  to  her  as  if  he 
said,  '  Lettie,  it  is  ten  o'clock  and  time  you  were  in 
bed.' " 

It  did  not  strike  Melton,  any  more  than  it  had 
on  the  previous  occasion,  that  the  right  way  to  win  a 
wife  was  through  the  medium  of  her  father.  He  felt 
that  the  first  thing  was  to  make  an  impression  on  the 
damsel  herself.  He  believed  that  when  he  had  gained 
her  affection  it  would  give  him  courage  to  brave  the 
presence  of  all  the  retired  colonels  in  the  world.  The 
young  men  continued  their  walk  along  the  mall,  into 
Tremont  street  again  and  then  into  Shawmut  avenue, 


62  AN   ORIGINAL    SINNER. 

for  it  had  been  agreed  between  them  that  they 
would  make  another  call  upon  Miss  Bright  and  her 
friend  that  very  afternoon. 

When  Miss  Bessie  appeared  and  escorted  them 
into  the  small  parlor,  Mark  felt  that  he  was  brave 
enough  to  dare  anything.  When  she  went  upstairs 
and  returned  with  Miss  Lettie  he  found  that  his 
bravery  had  oozed  out  of  the  pores  of  his  skin  and 
that  he  was  as  great  a  coward  as  ever.  There  was, 
truth  to  tell,  but  little  opportunity  to  make  clear  the 
state  of  his  mind,  with  another  couple  present,  but 
\ie  thought  Lettie  ought  to  see  it  in  his  eyes  or 
detect  it  in  his  voice,  and  it  was  evident  she  did 
nothing  of  the  kind.  She  did  not  seem  to  have  the 
least  embarrassment  in  his  presence.  The  quartette 
laughed  and  talked  together  like  other  acquaintances, 
and  when  the  time  came  to  go,  Mark  knew  that,  so 
far  as  his  objects  were  concerned,  he  stood  exactly 
where  he  did  when  he  entered  the  house. 

"  I  can't  bear  it  !"  he  exclaimed,  impatiently,  as 
the  pair  walked  back  toward  the  business  centre. 
"  I  shall  go  to  the  Colonel  and  talk  to  him.  It  is 
the  only  way.  As  disagreeable  as  it  is,  I  must  do  it. 
I  am  used  to  men.  The  most  he  can  do  is  to  kick 
me  down  stairs.  I  shall  never  be  content  till  I  have 
tried.  At  present  this  matter  is  seriously  interfer- 
ing with  my  studies.  I  think  of  it  night  and  day. 
If  I  am  led  to  hope  that  Lettie  will  marry  me  I  can 
renew  my  efforts  to  take  high  rank  in  my  class.  If 
I  find  that  I  must  give  her  up — well,  it  won't  make 
much  difference." 

Morley  stood  on  the  sidewalk  and  took  his  com- 
panion by  the  arm,  to  shake  him  with  mock  anger. 

«•  That's  enough  of  that  kind  of  talk,  Mark,"  he 


**I    LOTE   YOTJB   DAUGHTER."  63 

said.  "  You're  not  going  to  be  made  a  fool  of  by 
any  woman,  no  matter  how  attractive  she  is.  The 
poet  hit  the  nail  on  the  head  when  he  wrote — 

'  If  she  be  not  fair  to  me, 
What  care  I  how  fair  she  be.* 

You  want  the  Colonel's  pretty  daughter,  and  I 
hope — as  long  as  3^>u  do  want  her — you'll  succeed. 
But  if  tf-ou  fail  •  v  "»on't  do  anything  worse  than 
pass  a  couple  of  sleepless  nights  and  then  go  back  to 
your  studies  with  twice  the  vim  you  had  before. 
Going  to  the  devil  for  a  woman  is  a  trick  of  novel 
heroes,  not  of  flesh  and  blood  men  !  If  we're  to  be 
friends,  let's  have  no  more  of  that  sort  of  thing." 

Melton  was  silent.  He  felt  that  his  entire  future 
depended  on  that  bit  of  femininity  he  had  just  left. 
He  was  not  the  only  young  man  in  the  world — even 
outside  of  novels — who  has  had  feelings  of  that  kind. 
And,  for  the  time,  they  were  very  real  to  him. 

He  had  an  engagement  the  very  next  evening  to 
play  a  game  at  Col.  Fuller's,  and  during  the  time  that 
elapsed  he  screwed  his  courage  up  to  the  task  of  mak- 
ing some  sort  of  a  beginning  of  introducing  the  sub- 
ject that  lay  nearest  his  heart.  The  evening  came. 
The  game  proceeded  as  usual,  with  Miss  Lettie  sitting 
nearby,  half-absorbed  in  a  paper-covered  book.  Mark 
sat  at  the  table  so  that  the  girl  was  opposite  to  him, 
and  behind  her  father,  but  not  by  the  utmost  effort 
could  he  obtain  the  least  attention  from  her  of  a 
surreptitious  nature.  Miss  Fuller  seemed  wholly 
unacquainted  with  even  the  alphabet  of  flirtationr 
and  Mark  did  not  expect  any  exhibition  that  implied 


AN   ORIGINAL   SINNER. 

a  warmer  feeling.  The  hands  of  the  mantel  clocfc 
pointed  to  ten  when  she  rose,  as  punctual  as  the 
time-piece  itself,  to  bid  her  father  and  his  guest 
good-night.  The  kiss  she  gave  the  Colonel  and 
the  parting  salutation  with  which  she  left  his  visitor 
were  neither  more  nor  less  impressive  than  on  each 
former  occasion. 

Melton  had  lost  almost  everything  that  evening. 
It  was  hard  for  him  to  fix  his  mind  on  such  stupid 
things  as  cards  in  the  presence  of  a  much  more 
important  thought.  He  had  determined  to  say 
something,  though  he  did  not  know  how  far  his 
courage  would  permit  him  to  go. 

"  I  shall  graduate  next  June,"  he  remarked,  as  he 
moved  his  chair  back  a  little  from  the  table,  when 
the  last  game  was  finished. 

"  So  you  have  told  me." 

Mark  thought  for  a  second  how  much  truth  there 
was  in  this  quiet  observation.  He  must  have  men- 
tioned the  fact  to  Col.  Fuller  a  dozen  times  or  more, 
since  he  had  known  him. 

"  To  be  sure,"  he  stammered.  "  I  was  only  going 
to  say  that  after  I  graduate  I  intend  to  begin  at  once 
the  practice  of  medicine  in  this  city." 

"  Better  go  away,"  was  the  Colonel's  brusque  sug- 
gestion. "  Boston  has  too  many  doctors  now.  There 
are  some  streets  almost  full  of  them." 

There  was  not  much  encouragement  in  this. 

"  I  am  going  to  begin  practice  at  once  after  grad- 
uating," repeated  Mark,  feeling  like  an  amateur 
actor  under  the  eye  of  a  severely  strict  stage  mana- 
ger, "  either  in  Boston  or  some  other  city.  I  have 
not  much  money,  but  I  think  I  shall  be  able  to  make 
myself  a  position  in  a  short  time."  He  rather  liked 


"l   LOVE   YOUR   DAUGHTER.*  65 

the  sound  of  that  phrase.  "  I — I  want  to  get  estab- 
lished, and — as  soon  as  I  find  myself  able  tc  do  so 
— I  want — to  get  married." 

It  was  out  now  !  No,  it  wasn't.  Col.  Fuller  evi- 
dently had  not  the  least  notion  that  this  intention 
had  any  reference  to  his  household. 

"That's  a  foolish  idea,"  he  commented,  with  the 
freedom  for  which  he  was  famous.  "  No  man  ought 
to  marry  before  he  is  thirty.  I  didn't,  and,"  his  face 
darkened,  "if  I  hadn't  married  at  all,  it  would  have 
been  quite  as  well.  A  wife  drags  a  young  man  down. 
He  needs  a  number  of  years'  start  in  life  before  he 
encumbers  himself  with  extra  baggage.  Women  of 
the  present  age  want  too  much.  Why,  it  has 
cost  me  six  hundred  dollars  in  the  last  twelve 
months  to  dress — merely  to  dress — that  child  of 
mine  !" 

Happiness  !  The  name  of  Lettie  had  got  into  the 
Conversation  without  Mark's  bringing  it  there  ! 

"Miss  Fuller  certainly  dresses  with  exquisite 
taste,"  he  remarked. 

"Does  she?"  growled  the  military  gentleman, 
"  I  don't  know  anything  about  that.  I  know  it  costs 
like  the  devil  for  her  clothes.  It's  about  as  much  as 
my  half-pay  will  do  to  meet  my  bills." 

Was  this  a  point  in  his  armor  that  the  young  aspir- 
ant for  the  hand  of  that  girl  might  fairly  punc- 
ture ?  It  did  not  seem  to  Melton  that  six  hundred 
dollars  was  too  great  an  investment  for  the  clothing 
of  that  beautiful  creature.  He  would  be  most  happy 
could  the  expenditure  of  that  sum  be  transferred  to 
him.  The  income  of  any  half-successful  physician 
would  be  ample  to  meet  that  slight  drain. 

*  You  cannot  hope,0   he   said,  slowly,  "  that   th« 


66  AN   ORIGINAL  8INNEB. 

pleasure  of  paying  her  bills  will  always  remain  your 
own." 

Col.  Fuller,  whose  military  bearing  never  entirely 
left  him,  seemed  to  grow  more  erect  than  ever  as  he 
listened  to  these  audacious  words. 

"  Will  you  kindly  explain  your  meaning  ?"  he  asked-, 
frigidly. 

Now  that  he  was  near  enough  to  the  enemy — in 
the  words  of  the  commander  at  Bunker  Hill — to  "  see 
the  whites  of  his  eyes,"  Melton  felt  that  it  was  no 
time  to  falter. 

"  I  mean,  sir,"  he  answered,  respectfully,  "that  a 
young  lady  of  your  daughter's  goodness  and  beauty 
will  not  be  without  suitors.  And  that  the  day  must 
come  when  you  will  have  to  surrender  her  to  the 
care  of  a  husband." 

Col.Fuller'seyes  were  fixed  in  no  agreeable  way  upon 
the  author  of  this  sentiment  and,  as  the  young  man 
rfinished,  a  slight  shade  of  contempt  appeared  there. 

"I  hardly  know  how  to  understand  your  remarks," 
ilie  said,  icily.  "  I  do  not  know  what  gives  you  any 
right  to  address  such  observations  to  me.  My  family 
•affairs  are  my  own.  Because  you  have  been  invited 
ihere  to  play  a  game  of  cards  is  no  reason  why  you 
should  trench  upon  a  subject  with  which  you  cannot 
possibly  have  anything  to  do." 

He  had  gone  too  far  to  retreat  now.  Mark  felt  that 
he  must  know  his  fate  before  he  left  the  house. 

"My  excuse  is  this,  Col.  Fuller,"  he  answered, 
boldly.  "  I  love  your  daughter.  I  want  your  per* 
mission  to  seek  to  win  her.  If  I  succeed  in  doing  so, 
I  shall  have  the  best  possible  incentive  to  make  a 
name  and  fortune  at  my  profession.  I  consider  my- 
ftelf  a  man  of  honor,  and  I  cannot  see  anything  dig* 


WI   LOVE   YOUR   DAUGHTER."'  67 

reputable  in  entertaining  the  hope  that  some  day, 
when  I  am  in  a  pecuniary  condition  to  assume  the 
care  of  a  wife,  I  may  claim  the  only  woman  I  have 
ever  loved." 

Col.  Fuller  seemed  too  astounded  for  some  mo- 
ments to  reply.  He  looked  like  one  who  had  heard 
things  he  could  not  comprehend. 

"  I  don't  know  what  you  are  talking  about,"  he 
broke  forth  at  last.  "  You  are  a  lad  yet — a  school- 
boy, to  put  it  accurately.  How  old  are  you  ? 
Twenty-three  or  four.  You  have  no  money  to  speak 
of.  Your  success  in  life  is  still  problematical.  The 
last  thing  that  should  be  in  your  head  at  present  is 
an  affair  of  love.  But  the  absurdity  grows  greater 
when  you  talk  of  being  allowed  to  whisper  such 
things  to  a  young  girl  like  my  Lettie.  Why,  she  is 
the  merest  child — hardly  twenty — and  knows  about 
as  much  what  marriage  means  as  one  of  the  dolls 
she  has  but  recently  discarded.  By  George,  Mel- 
ton, I  don't  know  whether  to  get  angry  with  you  or 
to  extend  you  my  sympathy  !  For,  take  my  word 
for  it,  you  are  on  a  dangerous  road.  I  took  you 
for  a  sensible  young  fellow,  whom  I  was  glad  to 
know — a  creditable  son  to  one  of  the  bravest  fathers 
that  ever  rode  into  battle.  Are  you  going  to  turn 
out  an  addle-pated  milksop,  talking  of  girls  and 
marriage  before  you  are  out  of  college  ?  Upon  my 
word,  I  thought  better  of  you  !" 

The  voice  had  become  so  much  kinder  toward  the 
last  than  it  was  at  the  beginning  of  this  philippic 
that  Melton  brightened  a  little. 

"  Forgive  me,  Colonel,  if  I  have  offended  you,"  he 
said,  earnestly,  "  but  this  is  a  serious  thing  to  me. 
I  am  not  talking  to  you  about  contracting  marriage 


68  AN   ORIGINAL  SINNER. 

at  present,  quite  the  contrary.  All  I  wish  to  know 
is  that  when  I  am  able  to  do  so — and  it  will  not  be 
so  far  away,  either — the  one  I  have  learned  to 
love  with  no  slight  devotion  will  not,  on  account  of 
my  silence,  be  pledged  to  another.  If  you  do  not 
wish  me  to  speak  to  her  on  this  subject  I  promise 
not  to  do  so.  But  I  beg  you  not  to  treat  my  state- 
ment lightly,  for  unless  I  can  marry  Miss  Lettie  I 
shall  be  single  to  the  end  of  my  life." 

The  elder  man  looked  puzzled  for  a  moment,  and 
then  burst  into  a  good-natured  laugh. 

44 1  cannot  get  over  the  ludicrousness  of  the  thing," 
he  said.  "You  are  such  a  boy  to  come  seriously 
with  that  kind  of  a  proposition.  I  will  say  this,  how- 
ever. Perhaps,  if  it  was  five  years  later,  and  you 
were  established  in  a  paying  business — had,  let  us 
say,  ten  thousand  dollars,  even,  to  your  credit  in  the 
bank — I  would  not  give  my  child  to  any  one  with 
more  willingness  than  to  the  son  of  my  old  com- 
panion-in-arms, Maj.  Melton.  At  present,  all  talk  of 
the  kind  is  simply  ridiculous,  and  you  will  see  it 
when  you  go  home  and  quietly  think  it  over.  Let 
me  set  your  mind  at  rest  on  one  point,  though. 
You  have  no  rival  to  fear.  I  think  my  child  has 
never  spoken  in  private  to  a  man  in  her  life,  unless  it 
was  the  first  evening  you  came  here.  If  I  were  to 
give  you  full  leave  to  say  what  you  please  to  her,  she 
would  not  understand  a  word.  She  would  come  to 
me  when  you  had  gone  and  say,  '  Papa,  what  was 
Mr.  Melton  talking  about  ?'  And  it  will  not  be 
to-day  nor  to-morrow  that  she  gains  greater  wisdom. 
I  have  enough  to  support  her  and  myself  in  a  modest 
way,  thank  God  !  and  she  shall  keep  her  innocence  a 
little  longer." 


"l    LOVE   TOUB   DAUGHTER."  69 

It  was  not  at  all  what  Mark  wanted,  but  he  was 
fain  to  be  content.  He  assured  the  Colonel  that  he 
should  at  some  future  date  return  with  additional 
years  and  fortune  to  repeat  his  request.  The  father 
of  his  beloved  smilingly  met  this  proposition  and  they 
parted  as  usual,  with  the  next  night  for  cribbage  the 
last  word  on  the  Colonel's  lips. 

At  noon  the  next  day  Mark  told  Frank  Morley, 
nearly  word  for  word,  all  that  had  passed  at  the 
Colonel's  rooms. 

"  You  did  very  well,"  was  the  latter's  comment. 
"Very  well,  indeed.  Buoyed  up  by  hope,  the  five 
years  won't  go  so  slow  as  you  might  think.  I'm  not 
so  sure  about  the  ten  thousand,  though.  That's 
a  more  doubtful  matter." 

Mark  responded  that  this  was  the  least  of  his 
fears.  He  would  get  the  money,  if  he  had  to 
amputate  some  fellow's  head  instead  of  an  arm  or  a 
finger. 

"  The  old  man  must  be  a  fool,  though,"  mused 
Morley,  after  he  had  gone  his  way,  "  if  he  really 
thinks  any  girl  of  twenty  in  this  age  is  as  blankly 
innocent  as  he  pretends  his  Lettie  is.  I  wonder 
if  he  ever  reads  those  yellow  novels  of  hers.  Can 
she  be  merely  a  white  page,  without  a  pencil  mark 
upon  it  ?  I  believe  I'll  make  it  my  business  to  find 
out." 


70  AN   ORIGINAL   SINNEB. 


CHAPTER  VII. 

WAS   LETTIE   IN   LOVE  ? 

As  any  one  acquainted  ever  so  little  with  the  work- 
ings of  the  feminine  mind  may  have  imagined,  Miss 
Lettie  Fuller  had  been  giving  a  good  deal  more 
thought  to  the  two  young  men  who  had  come  to 
visit  her  father  than  she  showed  on  the  surface. 
All  the  repression  in  the  world  does  not  prevent  a 
girl  from  thinking  of  the  other  sex  when  she  has 
reached  the  age  of  twenty.  The  novels  that  she 
freely  purchased  told  of  love  and  lovers.  They  de- 
picted the  heartaches  of  sorrowful  maidens  and  the 
restless  nights  of  smitten  swains.  She  had  not  yet 
reached  a  point  where  she  could  fully  sympathize 
with  the  serious  way  in  which  these  subjects  were 
treated,  but  to  say  the  least  she  was  much  interested 
in  them.  She  knew  that  the  chief  end  of  a  woman's 
life  was  marriage,  and  that  "  old  maids  "  were  seldom 
spoken  of  except  in  a  pitying  or  contemptuous 
way.  It  followed,  then,  that  she — Miss  Lettie 
Fuller — would  probably  become,  in  the  course  of 
time,  Mrs.  Somebody  Else.  And  it  was  very  natural 
that  she  should  let  her  thoughts  roam  a  little  into 
that  other  pasture  when  the  only  two  young  men  she 
had  ever  had  near  her  were  en  evidence. 

To  Lettie  her  father  had  always  been  absolute. 
She  had  obeyed  him  as  rigidly  as  any  of  the 
soldiers  he  used  to  command,  and  if  he  had  given 
out  decorations  for  good  behavior  she  would  surely 


WAS   LETTIE   IN   LOVE?  71 

have  worn  a  handsome  number  of  them.  There  was 
no  friction  between  them,  for  when  one  orders  and 
the  other  obeys  without  question  there  is  little 
chance  for  that  sort  of  thing.  The  Colonel  had  a 
limited  income,  the  exact  extent  of  which  he  knew. 
His  taste  were  moderate  and  he  had  been  quite  wil- 
ling, notwithstanding  the  sharp  way  in  which  he 
quoted  the  figures  to  Melton,  that  Lettie  should  use 
all  unexpended  balances  in  adorning  herself.  He  did 
not  know  that  she  had  attracted  wide  attention  on 
account  of  the  excellence  of  her  dress,  and  would  not 
have  been  pleased  to  learn  the  fact.  He  considered 
her  still  his  "child,"  whom  he  purposely  kept  in 
ignorance  of  the  world  as  long  as  he  could,  feeling 
that  it  was  best  for  her  to  postpone  the  advent 
of  responsible  womanhood  to  the  latest  possible 
moment. 

Finding  his  own  pleasure  best  served  at  the 
Veterans'  Club,  lie  was  glad  Lettie  had  such  a  com- 
panion as  Miss  Bessie  Bright.  To  him  they  were 
not  "young  ladies,"  who  might  attract  the  attention 
of  men,  but  mere  girls,  as  safe  to  send  out  of  doors 
as  they  had  been  ten  years  before,  when  they  went 
to  the  grammar  school.  Lettie  always  told  him,  of 
her  own  accord,  where  she  had  passed  the  afternoon, 
if  she  went  out,  and  in  the  evening  she  did  not  go 
unless  the  landlady  accompanied  her,  except  on  those 
rare  occasions  when  her  father  went  himself.  When 
the  clock  pointed  to  ten  she  gave  him  the  good-night 
kiss  and  retired  to  her  little  bedroom.  Discipline 
could  hardly  be  more  perfect  than  this,  according  to 
the  ideas  of  the  retired  officer,  who  had  written  a 
book  on  that  very  subject,  as  applied  to  the  army, 
and  ought  to  know  what  he  was  talking  about. 


72  AN  OBIGINAL   SINNER. 

Bessie  and  Lettie  had  many  conversations  regard- 
ing the  young  men,  which  would  have  been  far  from 
pleasing  to  the  Colonel  could  he  have  heard  them. 
Bessie  was  the  more  talkative  of  the  twain,  but 
Lettie  proved  a  good  listener,  which  is  not  the  least 
important  part  of  a  good  conversation. 

"I  wish  your  father  didn't  keep  you  so  strict," 
said  Bessie,  on  one  of  those  afternoons  when  the 
"  boys,"  as  they  called  them,  had  been  at  the  house. 
HIt  is  such  a  pity  that  we  cannot  go  to  a  matinee  or 
\o  ride  with  them." 

Lettie  opened  her  blue  eyes  wider,  but  did  not 
otherwise  reply.  She  was  wondering  how  it  would 
seem  to  be  riding  out  with  two  young  gentlemen, 
and  whether  it  was  really  such  an  improper  thing  as 
is  appeared  at  first  thought. 

"  They're  as  nice  a  pair  of  fellows  as  I  ever  met," 
continued  Bessie.  "  Mr.  Morley  is  awfully  jolly, 
isn't  he?  Mr.  Melton  is  the  still  one,  but  he  looks  a 
thousand  things,  if  he  doesn't  say  them.  I  shouldn't 
wonder  if  he  went  up  to  your  august  papa  some  day 
and  asked  him  for  your  hand." 

Lettie  gave  a  little  start. 

"Oh,  Bessie  !"  she  exclaimed. 

"  Well,  it  wouldn't  be  so  wonderful, "persisted  her 
friend.  "  Frank — I  mean  Mr.  Morley — has  told  me 
a  good  deal  about  him.  He  is  the  straightest  young 
fellow  in  the  world,  and  devoted  to  his  studies. 
Next  summer  he  graduates,  and  will  go  at  once  to 
practicing  medicine.  Certainly  if  any  one  needs  a 
wife  it  is  a  doctor,  and  he  never  takes  his  eyes  off 
you  when  he  is  here." 

Lettie  shivered,  not  enough  to  attract  attention. 
Sbc  was  thinking  of  the  inside  of  a  doctor's  office,  a 


WAS   LETTIK   IN    LOVE?  73 

surgeon's,  with  bandages  and  arnica  and  the  general 
impression  of  suffering  that  goes  with  them.  So 
wrapt  up  was  she  in  the  disagreeableness  of  this 
idea  that  she  quite  forgot  to  remonstrate  with  Miss 
Bright  for  the  character  of  her  observation,  as  she 
at  first  intended  to  do. 

"  You  make  me  smile,  sometimes,  my  dear,"  pur- 
sued the  vivacious  girl.  "  One  would  imagine  you 
were  in  short  clothes,  to  listen  to  you  and  your 
father.  Why,  you  are  twenty,  a  whole  year  older 
than  I,  four  years  older  than  my  own  mother  was 
when  she  married  my  father." 

This  drew  out  an  observation  from  the  listener. 

"  Married  at  sixteen,  Bessie  ?  That's  much  too 
early  !" 

"My  mamma  didn't  think  so,  bless  her  heart!" 
was  the  reply.  "  And  for  my  part  I'm  glad  of  it, 
for  if  she  had  waited  five  or  six  years  I  should  be 
only  just  entering  my  teens,  and  of  all  ages  I  think 
that  is  the  meanest.  Now,  auntie  doesn't  put  any 
particular  restrictions  on  me.  I  could  go  with 
Frank — of  course,  I  mean  Mr.  Morley  ;  I  wonder  why 
I  always  use  his  first  name — if  I  chose,  to  the  theatre 
or  to  drive.  But  the  fact  is — I  am  a  little  afraid  to 
go  with  him  alone,  and  I  should  like  it  so  well  if  w? 
could  make  up  the  party  of  four.  He  hasn't  really 
asked  me  to  go  except  with  you  two,  but  I  know  he 
would  if  he  thought  it  would  be  of  any  use." 

Miss  Fuller  concluded  from  these  statements  that 
she  was  acting  as  a  damper  on  the  pleasures  of  her 
friend  and  was  sorry  for  it. 

"  There  is  nothing  to  keep  you  from  going  with 
1  Frank,'  "  she  said,  putt;~*»  an  emphasis  on  the 


74  AN   ORIGINAL    SINNER. 

"  if  you  wish  to.  I  don't  see,  myself,  why  you  should 
hesitate." 

"Well,  there  isn't  any  reason,"  replied  the  girl, 
laughing  and  blushing,  "  unless — you  won't  laugh  at 
me,  Lettie,  will  you  ? — unless  it  is  because  I  like  him 
too  much." 

Miss  Fuller  opened  her  eyes  wider  than  ever. 
Was  it  possible  that  she  was  in  the  personal  presence 
of  a  real  Romance,  like  those  she  had  read  of  in  thtf 
books  with  covers  of  yellow  ?  Was  her  friend  Bessie 
struck  with  that  strange  complaint  of  which  she  had 
dreamed  and  wondered  ? 

"You  don't  mean,"  she  said  slowly,  "  that  you  are 
in  1-o-v-e  ?" 

At  this  pointed  question  Bessie  blushed  more  than 
ever. 

"  I — I  don't  know  exactly  what  I  mean,"  she 
answered,  nervously.  "  It  isn't  right,  I  suppose,  for 
a  girl  to  get  in  love  until  the  adored  one  gives  some 
direct  indication  of  the  state  of  his  own  feelings. 
But — I  tell  you  this,  Lettie,  because  you  are  the  only 
confidant  I  have — I  do  like  Frank." 

She  hesitated,  as  the  name  came  out  and  Lettie 
responded,  simply — 

"  That  is  right,  Bessie.  I  don't  see  why  you 
should  not  call  him  Frank — to  me." 

"  I'm  afraid  I  shall  call  him  that  to  his  face  next," 
smiled  Bessie,  heaving  a  sigh.  "  And  I'm  sure  I 
don't  want  to  do  it  just  yet,  though  he's  told  me  I 
ought.  He  always  talks  with  me  a  little  while,  you 
know,  when  he  first  comes,  before  I  go  up  to  call 
you,  and  he  say  some  very  nice  things.  Nothing— 
to  mean  anything,  though,"  she  added  ruefully. 


WAS   LETTIE   IN    LOVE?  75 

This  had  become  more  interesting  to  the  listener 
than  any  novel  she  had  ever  read. 

"  What  does  he  say  ?"  she  asked. 

"  Oh,  just  ordinary  things.  Only,  sometimes,  he 
adds  that  I  am  looking  well,  or  that  I  ought  to  take 
the  air  more.  And  then  he  asks  if  you  could  not 
arrange  it  to  go  with  him  and  Mark — he  says  Mark 
— and  me,  on  some  kind  of  an  excursion.  And  when 
I  tell  him  that  I  am  afraid  it  could  not  be  done,  he 
looks  discouraged  and  I  get  desperate." 

The  Colonel's  daughter  was  very  immobile. 

"  I  wonder  why  he  never  says  anything  about  it 
when  7am  there,"  she  said. 

"  I  tell  him  it  would  be  useless,"  explained  Bessie. 
"I  know  your  father  so  well  that  I  thought  it  best 
not  to  let  Frank  trouble  you  with  such  a  request." 

"You  are  very  kind." 

There  was  irony  in  this  response,  but  Bessie  Bright 
did  not  notice  it.  It  was  the  first  bit  of  irony  that 
had  ever  passed  the  lips  of  Lettie  Fuller,  and  she 
hardly  recognized  its  quality  herseK.  Behind  it  was 
a  faint  touch  of  jealousy.  She  did  not  like  it  because 
Frank  Morley  had  been  so  much  more  confidential 
with  Miss  Bright  than  with  her  ;  and  the  reason 
given — that  his  friend  Melton  had  eyes  for  her  alon< 
— was  no  more  pleasing.  There  arose  in  her  breast 
an  incipient  rebellion  against  the  strictness  of  her 
father,  which  would,  she  knew,  forbid  the  use  of  their 
apartment  for  the  purpose  of  receiving  the  visits  of 
these  young  men,  even  in  the  presence  of  Miss  Bright, 
whom  he  trusted  implicitly.  She  had  never  broached 
the  subject  to  him,  but  she  understood  the  tenor  of 
his  mind  too  well  to  have  any  doubt  about  the  mat- 
ter. It  seemed  to  her  true,  what  Bessie  said,  that 


76  AN   ORIGINAL   SINNER. 

she  was  quite  old  enough  to  be  released  a  little  from 
leading  strings. 

"  Mr.  Morley  has  told  me  a  great  deal  about  his 
friend,"  Bessie  went  on  to  say,  after  a  momentary 
pause.  "  Do  you  want  to  hear  it  ?" 

Miss  Fuller  thought  nothing  could  fail  to  interest 
her  that  Frank  Morley  had  said  and  she  indicated 
an  affirmative. 

"Well,  the  first  time  he  came,  that  night  your 
father  was  out,  he  conceived  a  great  admiration  for 
you.  He  told  Frank  about  you  a  few  days  after. 
You  were  passing  a  club  to  which  they  belong  and 
some  of  the  members  noticed  you,  and  when  you  were 
out  of  sight  Mr.  Melton  said  he  knew  you  a  little  and 
that  your  father  was  a  friend  of  his.  And  Frank 
says  it  was  easy  to  see  even  then  the  impression  you 
made  on  him.  And  he  says  he  has  come  to  play 
cards  with  the  Colonel  solely  on  your  account,  and 
that  he  will  be  sure  to  speak  out  before  a  great 
while." 

Another  mental  glance  at  the  contents  of  an 
imaginary  surgeon's  office  came  to  Miss  Lettie,  and 
she  shuddered  at  the  sights  and  scents  she  found 
there. 

"  I  wonder  why  he  waits  so  long,"  she  said, 
coolly. 

The  irony  was  there  again,  for  in  the  last  ten 
minutes  this  girl  had  learned  the  use  of  that  most 
subtle  and  dangerous  weapon. 

Miss  Bessie  looked  at  her  friend  with  astonish- 
ment, for  the  double  nature  of  her  reply  was  lost  on 
her. 

"  How  can  he  do  anything,"  she  asked,  "  when  he 
has  no  opportunity  to  meet  you  alone  ?  A  man  can 


WAS   LETTIE    IN    LOVE?  77 

hardly  say,  'I  love  you,'  when  there  are  other  per- 
sons present." 

"  I  love  you  /"  What  strange,  mysterious  meaning 
there  was  in  those  words.  For  the  first  time  in  her 
life  Lettie  Fuller  realized  that  they  might  mean  some- 
thing to  her  if  spoken  by  the  right  lips. 

"  No,  that  is  true,"  she  said,  absently,  as  the  nature 
of  Bessie's  observation  dawned  upon  her  through 
the  mist. 

"  I  would  not  like  to  advise  you  to  deceive  your 
father,"  added  Bessie,  covertly,  "  but  at  the  same 
time  I  doubt  if  you  will  ever  receive  a  declaration  of 
love  in  any  other  way.  If  you  insist  on  telling 
each  evening  every  step  you  have  taken  during  the 
day,  you  can't  get  far.  Of  course,  you  could  meet 
him  here,  in  my  parlor,  and  Frank  and  I  could  make 
an  excuse  to  go  out  for  a  walk  ;  but  that  would  look 
too  much  like  a  plan.  Wouldn't  it  ?" 

Miss  Lettie  assented,  saying  it  would  look  quite 
too  much  like  a  plan,  and  that  she  could  not  think 
of  it. 

"  He  might  write  to  you,  as  I  was  telling  Frank 
yesterday,"  continued  the  young  matchmaker,  "but 
there  is  need  of  something  like  a  preliminary  talk. 
And  he  is  mortally  afraid  of  you,  beside.  He  does 
not  know  but  you  would  take  his  letter  direct  to  the 
Colonel,  and  that  his  visits  to  your  apartment — for 
the  sake  of  cribbage — would  be  cut  short  in  conse- 
quence." 

The  Colonel's  daughter  nodded  her  opinion  that 
there  was  certainly  something  in  that.  She  knew, 
however,  that  she  should  never  take  such  a  letter  to 
her  father,  and  that  from  this  day  forth  she  should 
never  put  implicit  confidence  in  him.  It  seemed  as 


T8  AN    ORIGINAL   SINNEK. 

if  he  had  set  out  to  work  her  an  injury,  and  that  it 
had  become  necessary  to  defe-nd  herself. 

44  But  he  has  had  a  talk  with  the  Colonel  already," 
said  Bessie,  guardedly.  "Frank  told  me  not  to  tell 
you  of  this  yet,  but  I  can't  help  it.  You  might  as  well 
know.  He  told  him  he  loved  you,  night  before 
last—" 

Miss  Lettie  rose  from  her  chair  in  sheer  amaze- 
ment. 

"  Bessie  !"  she  exclaimed. 

44  It  is  the  truth." 

44  Mr.  Melton  told  my  father — " 

"  Yes." 

The  blue  eyes  grew  angry. 

41  Without  speaking  to  me — " 

"That  is  exactly  what  he  asked  leave  to  do,"  said 
Bessie,  sorry  that  she  had  broken  her  promise  to 
Morley.  She  had  never  seen  Lettie  with  that 
expression  on  her  face,  and  dreaded  the  storm  that 
seemed  to  be  gathering. 

"  And  what  did  my  father  tell  him  ?"  asked 
Lettie,  coldly. 

The  red  lips  were  set  close  together  as  they  awaited 
the  reply. 

"  He  said  you  were  both  too  young  to  think  of 
such  matters,  and  that  Mr.  Melton  must  wait  till  he 
was  older  and  had  an  established  business." 

"  How  long  did  he  think  he  should  wait  ?  Did  he 
set  any  time  ?" 

Sarcasm,  deep  and  strong,  was  in  these  words,  but 
the  hearer  did  not  suspect  them. 

"  Five  or  six  years,  I  think  he  said.  But  Mr. 
Melton  has  no  idea  of  carrying  out  that  plan.  He 
means  to  propose  as  soon  as  he  feels  that  he  has 


WAS   LETTIE    IN    LOVE  ?  79 

enough  business  to  feel  certain  of  being  able  to  sup- 
port you." 

Miss  Fuller  winced.  Her  indignation  had  been 
growing  steadily  stronger.  At  that  moment  she 
almost  hated  her  father.  What  right  had  he  to  tell 
this  impudent  young  man  anything  that  implied  a 
right  to  hope  for  her  consent  to  marry  him.  "When 
he  could  support  her,"  indeed  !  It  seemed  the  height 
of  assurance  for  him  to  say  anything  whatever  to  her 
father  about  her.  His  course  might  be  very  high- 
toned  and  honorable,  but  it  was  also  very  absurd. 
Perhaps  she  might  have  learned  to  like  him  had  he 
pursued  the  usual  methods,  but  now  she  was  sure 
she  should  always  detest  him.  It  was  lucky  he  had 
been  put  off  by  the  Colonel,  or  he  might  hava 
gained  courage  to  come  with  his  proposal  at  once. 
Lettie  was  so  little  acquainted  with  love  matters 
that  she  hardly  felt  equal  yet  even  to  the  task  ot 
refusing  an  applicant  for  her  hand.  She  hoped  Mr. 
Melton  would  not  be  so  silly  as  to  press  his  suit  at 
present,  for  she  would  not  only  have  to  refuse  him, 
but  she  might  not  be  able  to  do  it  in  the  correct  and 
graceful  style  of  which  she  had  read  in  the  yellow- 
covered  story  !^ooks. 

"  Well,  he  won't  trouble  me  for  some  time,"  she 
answered,  with  a  forced  laugh,  "  if  he  waits  till 
his  financial  ability  is  equal  to  the  emergency." 

"It's  better  than  plunging  into  marriage  as  so 
many  do,"  responded  Bessie,  "  when  they've  not  got 
a  penny  to  buy  bread.  Though,  if  /  loved  a  man," 
and  here  her  eyes  grew  dreamy,  "  I  wouldn't  care 
how  poor  he  was.' 

Miss  Fuller  looked  at  her  searchingly. 

*  And  you  do  love  one,"  she  said. 


SO  AN   ORIGINAL   SINNER. 

"  Oh,"  cried  Bessie,  with  a  start,  "  I  don't  know  as 
I  exactly  love  him  !  I  haven't  known  him  so  very 
long,  you  know.  But,  really,  he's  nice  ;  don't  you 
think  so  ?" 

And  Lettie  said,  yes,  she  thought  he  was  very  nice 
indeed,  and  that  she  hoped  Bessie  would  marry  him 
and  that  they  would  be  happy  all  their  lives.  And 
when  she  had  left  her  friend,  and  was  in  the 
seclusion  of  her  own  room,  she  took  a  tumbler  that 
lay  on  the  bureau  and  broke  it  between  her  fin- 
gers. 

The  art  of  dissimulation  is  one  of  the  weapons 
given  to  women,  in  their  contest  with  the  world. 
Lettie  Fuller  met  her  father  at  dinner,  with  the  quiet 
face  with  which  he  was  so  familiar,  and  he  never 
dreamed  that  under  that  calm  exterior  a  raging  cal» 
dron  had  begun  to  seethe  and  bubble. 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

A  PICTURE  OF   INNOCENCB. 

Another  month  passed  away.  Frank  Morley  no 
longer  stayed  at  the  Quincy  House.  He  had  a  room 
on  Shawmut  avenue,  where  the  Fullers  lived  and 
where  Miss  Bessie  Bright's  aunt  officiated  as  land- 
lady. When  a  chamber  was  vacated,  he  went  up  to 
look  at  it,  with  Bessie  as  his  guide,  and  found  it  very 
pleasant  indeed.  The  room  seemed  full  of  sunshine, 
partly,  no  doubt,  because  the  happy  young  girl  was 
there,  and  it  contrasted  favorably  with  the  little 


A   PICTCKE    OF   INNOCENCE.  81 

closet-like  apartment  that  he  occupied  in  the  hotel. 
The  price  was  less  than  he  was  paying,  so  there 
could  be  no  objection  on  that  score.  Had  it  been 
higher  he  would  have  taken  it  just  the  same.  And 
it  augured  for  what  was  to  come  when  he  placed  his 
arm  about  Bessie's  waist  and  snatched  a  kiss,  "  to 
seal  the  bargain,"  (as  he  said)  before  they  descended 
again  to  the  lower  floor. 

I  am  not  going  to  pretend  that  this  was  a  strictly 
proper  piece  of  conduct  on  the  part  of  either  of  these 
young  people,  for  Bessie  deserves  her  full  share  of 
blame  for  not  protesting.  To  be  sure  she  said,  in  a 
surprised  tone,  "  Oh,  Frank  !"  but  there  was  nothing 
in  her  voice  to  imply  that  she  seriously  objected  to 
the  familiarity.  She  had  fallen  so  deeply  in  love 
with  the  young  fellow  that  she  had,  in  the  familiar 
parlance,  "  lost  her  head  "  completely.  He  had  said 
nothing  to  her  that  could  be  construed  into  a  declar- 
ation— nothing,  in  fact,  but  what  any  man  might  say 
to  any  woman  with  whom  he  was  acquainted.  But 
Bessie's  nature  was  as  warm  as  the  auburn  haiir  on 
her  head,  and  she  could  not  resist  the  impulses  that 
thronged  to  her  giddy  brain. 

One  kiss  given  and  taken  without  protest  is  apt  to 
be  followed  by  others,  and  Frank  was  not  slow  in 
accepting  the  opportunities  that  his  residence  in  the 
house  gave  him.  Mrs.  Bright,  the  widowed  aunt  of 
Miss  Bessie,  liked  him  from  the  start,  and  made  no 
objection  when  Bessie  said  he  had  asked  her  to 
accompany  him  to  the  theatre  or  for  a  walk  to  the 
Common  or  Public  Garden.  She  had  been  brought 
up — had  the  elder  lady — in  the  country,  where  every 
man  is  supposed  innocent  till  he  is  proved  guilty, 
and  she  was  rather  flattered  that  such  a  young  gen* 


82  AN   ORIGINAL   SINNEB. 

tleman  as  Mr.  Morley  should  take  such  an  interest  in 
her  niece.  He  was  studying  law,  and  would  un- 
doubtedly become  a  great  pleader  in  time.  Bessie 
must  ultimately  marry,  and  why  should  she  discour- 
age a  friendship  that  seemed  so  auspicious  ?  Had 
Mrs.  Bright  happened  to  be  where  she  could  see  the 
frequent  embraces  and  stolen  kisses  she  might  have 
whispered  a  word  of  caution  in  the  ear  of  her  niece, 
but  even  then  she  would  not  have  considered  these 
acts  anything  worthy  of  great  denunciation.  She 
had  been  a  girl  herself,  and  in  the  Maine  town  where 
she  had  married,  a  little  love-making  of  this  sort  was 
not  objected  to  by  the  most  careful  parents.  All 
they  thought  necessary  was  to  tell  the  girls  that  men 
were  not  always  to  be  trusted,  and  that  a  great  deal 
of  common-sense  must  be  kept  in  requisition. 

It  was  November  when  Mr.  Morley  changed  his 
lodgings,  and  one  of  the  first  things  he  did  after 
becoming  established  in  his  new  home  was  to  get  on 
still  more  intimate  terms  with  Col.  Fuller.  He  did 
not  play  cribbage,  and  consequently  could  not  use 
that  avenue  to  his  good  will,  which  Mark  Melton 
had  found  so  happily  open.  But  he  had  a  fund  of 
humor  that  the  Colonel  began  to  fancy,  a  way  of 
arguing  with  and  then  agreeing  with  him,  that 
flattered  his  pride.  Col.  Fuller  liked  controversy, 
but  could  not  bear  contradiction.  He  was  never 
happier  than  when  he  had  beaten  an  opponent  in  a 
dispute,  and  Frank  very  early  discovered  this  trait 
of  his.  He  resolved  to  humor  the  ex-officer  "  to  the 
top  of  his  bent."  When  the  Colonel  found  that 
Frank  always  had  to  admit  that  he  was  in  the  wrong, 
he  liked  his  society  immensely,  and  encouraged  him 


A   PICTURE  OF   INNOCENCE.  83 

fco  come  up  and  spend  as  many  evenings  as  he  liked 
in  his  sitting-room. 

Poor  Melton  used  to  hear  with  a  faint  feeling  of 
envy  of  the  pleasant  hours  that  Morley  passed  in 
this  way,  for  the  only  time  Mark  could  get  into  the 
Colonel's  apartment  with  any  show  of  excuse  was 
on  the  cribbage  nights,  now  reduced  to  one  each 
week.  On  these  occasions  it  was  painfully  evident 
that  it  was  the  game  and  not  his  visitor  for  which 
the  Colonel  cared,  though  he  never  let  the  evening 
pass  without  some  allusion  to  his  old  friend,  Maj. 
Melton,  whom  he  had  loved  like  a  brother.  Frank 
had  that  off-hand  way  which  made  it  easy  for  him  to 
step  in  at  any  time,  for  a  minute  or  two,  as  he  used 
to  say,  and  to  step  out  again  if  he  saw  that  was  the 
best  thing  to  do.  But  he  was  generally  welcome, 
and  Col.  Fuller  began  to  be  missed  at  his  club  quite 
often  before  the  year  ended. 

Miss  Lettie  occupied  the  same  position,  to  all 
appearance,  with  reference  to  the  two  gentlemen, 
that  she  did  when  Frank  moved  into  the  house.  She 
seemed  the  same  obedient  daughter,  the  same  picture 
of  innocence  and  guilelessness.  She  always  had  a 
book  in  her  hand  or  some  fancy-work  in  her  lap  in 
front  of  the  open  grate,  sometimes  busy  upon  it  and 
often  idling  with  her  eyes  on  the  coals.  Look  up  as 
suddenly  as  he  might,  never  could  Morley  find  her 
gaze  fixed  on  him,  or  detect  her  listening  to  the  con- 
versation between  him  and  her  father,  which  she 
heard,  to  be  sure,  but  did  not  seem  to  notice.  At 
ten  there  was  the  invariable  putting  down  of  the 
work  or  the  book,  the  good-night  kiss  for  her  father 
and  the  courteous  adieu  to  himself.  Night  after 
night,  when  he  was  there,  it  was  always  these  things 


84  AN    ORIGINAL  SINNER. 

and  nothing  more,  and  the  steady  watcher  found 
himself  puzzled  to  know  what  to  make  of  her. 

"  She's  not  a  fool,"  he  used  to  mutter.  "  She 
knows  more  than  she  appears  to  ;  but  how  well  she 
carries  off  her  little  game  !" 

Melton  talked  with  him  every  day  about  the  matter 
so  near  to  his  heart,  and  the  only  advice  he  received 
was,  the  one  so  tiresome  under  all  circumstances, 
to  "  have  patience."  Nothing  was  to  be  gained 
by  precipitation,  Morley  told  him.  Things  must 
take  their  course.  It  would  be  useless  to  attack  the 
Colonel  again,  for  the  old  boy  was  quick-tempered 
and  might  throw  cold  water  over  the  whole  affair. 
Mark  could  see  for  himself  how  little  Lettie  under- 
stood his  feelings,  and  could  judge  the  probabil- 
ity of  the  effect  of  trying  to  make  them  plain  to  her. 

"  Let  things  take  their  course,"  he  said,  repeatedly. 
"  Study  like  a  Trojan,  and  graduate  with  high 
honors.  Then  buy  a  saw  and  a  ton  of  senna  and 
proceed  to  make  a  place  for  yourself  among  the 
other  humbugs  in  your  line.  Show  that  you  are  a 
man,  and  not  the  schoolboy  with  which  he  taunted 
you.  Then  come  to  him  again,  and  he  will  make 
your  road  easy,  take  my  word  for  it." 

Melton  tried  to  be  encouraged  by  this,  but  did  not 
find  it  exactly  what  he  wanted. 

"I  wish  I  had  your  way  of  doing  things,"  he 
answered.  "If  you  were  in  my  place,  and  had  your 
mind  fixed  on  Miss  Fuller,  you  would  have  managed 
to  tell  her  so  and  to  secure  her  consent  long  before 
now.  Her  father  would  have  been  your  ally  from 
the  first,  and  next  spring,  practice  or  no  practice, 
you  would  have  been  able  to  call  her  yours." 

Morley  gave  a  shake  to  his  head. 


A   PICTURE   OF   INNOCENCE.  85 

"  If  I  were  in  your  place,"  he  corrected,  "  I  should 
think  of  anything  sooner  than  marriage.  The  old 
gentleman  was  right,  after  all.  You  need  a  hun- 
dred things  much  more  than  you  need  a  wife.  I 
have  only  consented  to  help  you  because  I  know 
when  sucli  a  delusion  strikes  a  man  it  is  as  real  to 
him  as  if  it  were  true." 

"And  you  never  intend  to  marry  ?" 

"My  dear  boy,"  replied  Morley,  "  what  sort  of  a 
husband  would  /  make  ?  Leave  my  desires  out  of 
the  question,  you  ought  to  have  some  pity  for  the 
woman  I  might  be  crazy  enough  to  wed." 

Mark  looked  serious. 

"  There  is  a  girl  who  is  learning  to  think  a  great 
deal  of  you,"  he  said.  "  If  you  are  indeed  a  confirmed 
bachelor,  you  ought  to  let  her  know  it  before  she 
gets  her  affections  too  deeply  enlisted." 

Morley  knew  very  well  whom  Melton  meant,  but 
he  affected  surprise  for  an  instant. 

"  I  can't  think  of  any  one  who  fits  your  descrip- 
tion," he  said,  slowly,  "  unless  it's  the  little  straw- 
berry blonde  niece  of  my  landlady." 

Melton's  indignation  showed  for  an  instant  in  his 
countenance. 

"You're  not  heartless,  and  yet  you  often  like  to 
appear  so,"  he  said.  "  You  must  have  noticed  how 
much  Bessie  thinks  of  you,  and  you  have  no  right  to 
permit  it  unless  you  mean  something  by  your 
attentions." 

The  law  student  elevated  his  eyebrows. 

"  Attentions,  Mark  ?"  he  replied.  "  What  do  you 
mean — going  to  two  or  three  matinees  and  for  an 
occasional  walk  ?  Is  Miss  Bright  unable  to  bear 
those  '  attentions '  without  unsettling  her  brain  ?  I 


86  AN   ORIGINAL    SINNER. 

won't  do  her  the  injustice  to  believe  you.  But,  to 
make  sure,  I  will  mention,  the  next  time  we  are  alone 
together,  that  I  am  cut  out  for  a  single  man  and 
shall  never  put  the  cords  of  wedlock  about  my  neck." 

"  You  ought  to  tell  her  that,"  said  Mark,  earnestly. 
"You  ought  to  tell  her  as  if  you  meant  it,  too." 

Morley  was  struck  by  the  sincerity  of  his  compan- 
ion's manner. 

"I  think  my  life  is  made  up  mainly  of  the  things 
I  should  not  do,"  he  said.  "  I  am  a  walking  exempli- 
fication of  the  lines  in  the  Episcopal  prayer-book, 
about  doing  those  things  we  ought  not  to  have  done, 
and  leaving  undone  those  things  we  ought  to  have 
done.  But  I'll  tell  Bessie,  if  you  say  so.  I'll  even 
get  a  card  painted,  containing  the  fact,  and  wear  it 
around  my  throat  like  a  dog-collar,  for  the  benefit 
of  all  other  maidens  concerned.  I  don't  mean  to  be 
frivolous,  but  I  never  cared  enough  about  a  girl  to 
see  why  one  should  honor  me  with  her  special  con- 
sideration." 

Melton's  thoughts  flowed  slower  than  those  of  his 
companion,  and  he  revolved  his  statement  for  some 
moments  in  his  mind  before  answering. 

"  I  am  surprised,  Frank,"  he  said,  finally.  "  I 
thought  you  went  to  her  house  and  took  a  room  on 
purpose  to  be  near  her." 

Morley  laughed  despairingly. 

"  It  is  ever  the  reward  of  virtue  to  be  misunder- 
stood," he  said,  dismally.  "  Now  the  fact  is  that  I 
took  that  room  so  as  to  get  on  better  and  more 
intimate  terms  with  quite  another  family." 

Mark  uttered  an  exclamation. 

"  The  Fullers  !"  he  cried.  "  Oh,  Frank,  I  beg  your 
pardon  !  Why  did  I  not  realize  it  before  ?  Your 


A   PICTURE   OF   INNOCENCE.  87 

went  there  solely  on  my  account,  and  I  never  had  the 
wU  to  see  it." 

He  grasped  his  friend's  hand  warmly,  but  as  soon 
as  he  could  easily  do  so,  Frank  drew  it  away.  He 
did  not  like  that  sort  of  thing. 

"  I  went  there  to  be  near  the  Fullers,"  he  repeated. 
*"  I  am  succeeding  very  well  in  making  their  acquaint- 
ance. When  the  time  comes  for  you  to  speak  out 
again,  it  may  not  be  so  bad  to  have  a  friend  and 
champion  near  the  throne." 

Melton's  gratitude  showed  itself  in  many  expres- 
sions of  good-will,  to  which  Morley  paid  little  atten- 
tion. He  was  thinking  of  Bessie  and  wondering 
how  he  should  keep  his  promise.  The  easiest  way 
was  not  to  keep  it  at  all,  and  after  considerable 
debate  in  his  mind  he  came  to  the  conclusion  that 
this  was  just  what  he  probably  should  do.  He  had 
an  idea  that  were  he  to  say  to  Miss  Bessie  in  so  many 
words  that  he  never  intended  marrying,  it  would  put 
an  end  to  those  special  privileges  which  he  now 
enjoyed,  and  render  his  stay  at  her  aunt's  much  less 
attractive.  Selfishness  was  becoming  ingrained  in 
him.  He  did  not  wish  to  cause  others  suffering, 
but  he  did  mean  to  make  this  world  about  as  agree- 
able as  he  could  for  Mr.  Frank  Morley. 

"'For  this,  among  the  rest,  was  I  ordained,'"  he 
quoted  to  himself,  as  he  walked  home  that  after- 
noon. "  Nature  speaks  out  in  me,  and  I  have  decided 
to  give  her  a  fair  trial.  I  have  been  observing  the 
methods  of  the  Great  Mother  of  us  all  ;  and  I  do  not 
find  that  her  lamps  bear  any  special  signal  for  the 
benefit  of  moths.  If  my  light  attracts  one  of  those 
gilded  insects — even  one  whose  hair  is  of  the  color 
of  Australian  gold — I  shall  merely  let  her  come  on 


88  AN   ORIGINAL   SINNER. 

Her  wings  are  her  own,  and  if  she  chooses  to  sing« 
them  it  is  her  affair.  Men  have  evolved  some  silly 
notions  which  make  them  unique  among  the  things 
of  earth.  I  shall  return  to  my  natural  state  and  set 
an  example  to  my  benighted  brethren." 

He  walked  along,  noticing  nothing  and  no  orve  in 
his  absorption. 

"  My  brother  Clyde  would  say  I  am  a  wretch  to 
entertain  such  views,"  he  mused.  "My  brother 
Clyde  has  been  badly  educated.  He  has  been  under 
the  tutelage  of  priests  and  old  men  in  petticoats 
until  the  natural  good  sense  in  him  is  distorted. 
My  brother  Clyde,  were  he  here,  and  could  he  read 
my  mind,  would  hold  up  before  me  the  terrors  of  a 
heli  in  the  next  world  and  a  remorseful  death-bed  in 
this,  predicting  them  both  to  be  my  lot  in  case  1 
allow  my  patron  saint — Nature — to  have  her  way. 
He  would  tell  the  girl  with  the  auburn  locks  that  I 
am  a  dangerous  companion — all  the  more  dangerous 
from  seeming  so  entirely  the  opposite.  What  a  fool 
is  that  twin  brother  of  mine  !  Does  he  find  any 
enjoyment  in  this  life  for  himself?  Does  the  course 
he  preaches  bring  happiness  to  him  ?  And  if  not,  how 
can  he  have  the  assurance  to  recommend  it  to 
others  ? 

"The  next  time  I  go  to  see  Niagara  I  mean  to 
argue  with  the  rush  of  waters,  just  as  they  are  about 
to  take  their  plunge  into  the  abyss,  protesting  that 
they  are  wrong  to  carry  with  them  the  sticks  and 
straws — sometimes  the  men  and  women — who  hap- 
pen to  get  lured  into  their  eddies.  They  will  listen 
to  me,  I  know,  if  they  do  not.  I  will  send  for  Clyde, 
for  they  will  hear  him.  I  wonder  where  he  is  now. 
It  is  many  months  since  he  went  from  home,  an<J 


A   PICTURE    OF   INNOCENCE.  89 

only  an  occasional  stray  letter  sent  via  New  York 
tells  he  is  yet  alive.  The  old  clergyman  who  has 
filled  his  head  with  trash  is  beginning  to  worry,  I 
hear,  lest  he  should  discern  the  error  of  his  teaching 
and  go  over  to  the  wicked  world,  as  other  men  do. 
But  Clyde  will  never  do  that.  No,  not  Clyde.  It  is 
enough  for  our  family  that  his  twin  brother  is  made 
of  clay,  and  we  must  not  be  deprived  of  our  chief 
glory  ! 

"  If  such  an  absurd  thing  could  be,  that  he  were 
right  and  I  wrong,  that  would  change  nothing  in 
the  lives  of  either  of  us.  He  can  only  be  what  he  is, 
for  that  is  his  nature,  and  no  more  can  I  be  differ- 
ent from  what  I  am.  There  are  whispers  that  Clyde 
has  human  blood  in  his  veins,  too,  and  that  it  is  the 
struggle  to  keep  in  the  path  of  asceticism  that  has 
given  him  those  deep  wrinkles  under  the  eyes  and 
that  deathly  white  complexion.  But  no  one  who 
knows  Clyde  will  believe  that.  The  women  of  the 
church,  the  young  girls  who  have  talked  to  him  as 
freely  as  if  he  were  theirgrandfather,  the  small  boys 
of  his  Sunday-school,  the  professors  and  classmates 
of  his  college — they  would  all  look  horror-stricken 
at  the  notion  that  Sin,  as  they  call  it,  could  enter 
into  his  pure  heart.  If  he  were  here  1  would  like  to 
see  him  in  the  presence  of  Lettie  Fuller,  day  after 
day,  and  mark  how  she  would  affect  him.  Little 
Bessie  would  be  safe  enough — she  is  too  transparent 
— but  that  other  one,  what  would  he  say  to  her? 
By  heaven,  he  must  have  the  opportunity  !  He 
must  be  told  that  she  is  in  danger  from  his  wicked 
brother — what  a  preposterous  fable  ! — and  that  his 
presence  is  necessary  to  protect  her.  Yes,  it  must 
be  arranged.  When  the  right  time  comes,  I  will 


90  AN   ORIGINAL   SINNER. 

find  an  errand  out  of  town  and  give  him  the  fullest 
opportunity." 

The  dreamer  was  so  engrossed  in  his  thoughts 
that  he  nearly  ran  over  a  young  lady  who  was  com* 
ing  around  the  corner,  and  as  he  lifted  his  hat  to 
apologize,  he  saw  that  her  face  was  a  very  familiar 
one. 

"  Why,  Miss  Fuller,"  he  said,  "  is  it  you  ?" 

"  There  is  not  much  doubt  of  that,"  she  replied, 
in  a  reserved  tone. 

"  And  you  are  going  home  ?  May  I  walk  there 
with  you  ?" 

"  If  you  desire." 

He  thought  her  replies  rather  curt,  but  he  knew 
her  so  little  that  he  did  not  know  whether  they  were 
unusually  so. 

"  I  did  not  think  you  ever  ventured  out  of  doors 
alone,"  he  remarked,  as  they  resumed  their  walk. 

"  But  I  do,  you  see." 

"  Yes,  to  my  great  surprise.  I  have  just  left  our 
friend  Melton,  who  is  not  in  the  best  of  spirits,  and 
I  was  thinking  of  him,  which  made  me  absent- 
minded.  He  is  a  very  good  fellow,  is  Melton." 

Sh«  nodded,  half  interrogatively,  neither  agreeing 
with  nor  disputing  him. 

"  He  is  in  the  dumps  a  little,"  pursued  Morley, 
"because  a  certain  young  lady  whom  he  violently 
admires  is  oblivious  to  his  sufferings.  To  be  sure 
he  has  never  told  her  of  the  state  of  his  mind,  but  he 
thinks — as  do  all  lovers,  I  have  heard — that  she  ought 
to  be  able  to  guess  that.  I  have  cheered  him  up  a 
little  by  telling  him  that  when  he  has  entered  upon 
the  practice  of  his  profession,  and  has  begun  to 
make  a  name  in  the  world,  it  will  be  quite  time 


A   PICTURE    OF   INNOCENCE.  91 

enough  to  go  to  her  with  something  definite  ;  and 
that  then,  if  she  is  the  wise  little  woman  he  thinks, 
she  will  see  her  way  clear  to  accept  him." 

Across  the  girl's  mind  came  the  hateful  expression 
used  by  Bessie  Bright,  "  when  he  is  able  to  support 
you."  And  the  sensations  she  had  felt  when  think- 
ing of  a  surgeon's  office  followed  fast  upon  it. 

"  Where  is  the  Colonel  ?"  asked  Morley,  as  she 
made  no  reply,  and  did  not  even  act  as  if  she  knew 
to  whom  he  referred. 

"I  presume  he  is  at  his  club." 

"  And  does  he  really  let  his  daughter  go  about  lit 
Boston  unchaperoned  ?" 

Miss  Fuller  met  the  look  that  he  gave  her  with 
one  that  was  new  to  him. 

"  His  daughter,"  she  said,  "  does  what  she  pleases." 

He  had  the  temerity  to  brave  those  eyes  again. 

"  I  never  should  have  thought  it,"  he  answered. 

He  could  see  that  something  was  agitating  her  in 
spite  of  her  endeavor  to  appear  unconcerned,  and  he 
resolved  upon  a  desperate  venture. 

"Might  I  have  your  company  to-morrow  to  the 
new  art  gallery  ?  There  are  to  be  some  fine  pictures 
there,  I  am  told." 

She  looked  him  directly  in  the  eyes  again  and  said, 
in  the  briefest  possible  way — 

"No." 

He  was  astonished,  not  at  her  refusal  so  much  as 
at  the  manner  of  it.  For  an  instant  he  held  his 
peace.  Then  he  said  : 

"  I  fear,  Miss  Fuller,  you  do  not  like  me.  Is  it 
true  ?" 

For  the  third  time  she  looked  at  him,  unswerv- 
ingly, and  said,  "Yes,"  in  the  same  tone. 


AN   ORIGINAL   SINNER. 


He  unlocked  the  door  with  his  latchkey  as  they 
reached  the  house,  and  silently  let  her  pass  him. 

"  Decidedly,"  he  said,  beneath  his  breath,  "  I  must 
have  Clyde  see  this  paragon." 


CHAPTER  IX. 
"MY  GOD!  THEY  WILL  BE  KILLED!' 

Mark  Melton  had  heard  a  good  deal,  in  one  way 
and  another,  about  Clyde  Morley.  Frank  was  full 
of  allusions  to  his  brother,  whom  he  usually  spoke 
of  with  unconcealed  cynicism.  Mark  knew  that 
Clyde  was  a  professed  Christian,  and  held  himselC 
aloof  from  most  of  those  thing  that  are  called  "van- 
ities "  by  the  stricter  sect.  He  knew  that  it  was 
expected  he  would  become  a  clergyman,  and  that 
the  austerity  of  his  life  made  him  ridiculous  in  the 
eyes  of  his  brother,  who  thought  such  views  beneath 
the  common-sense  of  the  present  day.  Creeping 
through  Frank's  expressions  were  covert  sarcasms, 
which  might  mean  much  or  little,  but  which  indicated 
a  feeling  the  reverse  of  brotherly.  When  he  men- 
tioned one  morning  that  Clyde  was  expected  in  Bos- 
ton soon  to  spend  a  few  days,  and  that  he  (Frank) 
should  take  the  opportunity  to  make  a  little  journey 
he  had  been  contemplating,  Melton  was  moved  to 
make  a  few  inquiries. 

"  I  don't  like  to  appear  inquisitive,"  he  said,  "  but 
it  seems  a  strange  time  for  you  to  go  away,  just 
when  your  brother  is  coming  here.  I  am  almost  led 
to  think  there  is  something  strained  in  your  relations." 


"  MY   GOD  !   THEY    WILL  BE   KILLED  1"  93 

"That  doesn't  half  express  it,"  Frank  admitted. 
"I  have  had  nothing  to  do  with  Clyde  for  a  long 
time,  except  to  send  a  semi-occasional  reply  to  his 
nauseating  letters  of  advice.  We  fell  out  long  ago, 
and  the  breach  widens  with  passing  time.  If  I 
knew  he  was  coming  into  that  door  in  a  minute 
from  now  I  should  pass  out  of  the  other  one  in 
order  to  escape  him." 

Melton  said,  in  a  friendly  way,  that  Clyde  must 
be  very  disagreeable. 

"No,  I  don't  suppose  he  is,  to  any  one  but  me," 
was  the  reply.  "  He  has  friends  who  think  the 
world  of  him,  much  stronger  ones  than  any  I  have. 
But  we  are  so  entirely  dissimilar  that  it  amounts  to 
a  positive  repulsion.  I  am  convinced  that  I  ought 
to  do  as  I  please,  and  he  is  forever  telling  me  I  am 
going  to  the  devil  ;  so  there  can  be  no  middle  ground. 
I  used  to  say  to  him,  '  How  do  you  know,  if  you  had 
my  make-up,  you  wouldn't  act  as  I  do?'  and  it 
shocked  him  almost  to  death.  He  cannot  conceive 
of  a  man  of  intelligence  following  any  but  the  very 
highest  ideals,  and  he  never  fails  on  any  occasion  to 
advance  his  opinions." 

The  medical  student  surveyed  the  face  of  his  com- 
panion with  interest. 

"  But  you  wouldn't  do  anything  very  wicked,"  he 
said.  "  You  are  a  pretty  moral  young  fellow.  I've 
watched  you  a  good  deal.  You  never  drink  to 
excess,  nor  do  any  of  those  things  that  undermine 
the  moral  nature.  I  really  don't  see  what  ground  of 
complaint  your  brother  has  toward  you." 

Morley  tried  to  explain,  with  indifferent  success. 
He  said  Clyde  was  doctrinal  to  a  degree.  He  had 
ideas  that  had  been  exploded  a  thousand  years 


94  AN   OKIGINAL   SINNER. 

and  held  to  them  pertinaciously,  too.  Every  one 
who  disagreed  with  him  was  wrong,  every  man  who 
did  not  follow  in  his  path  was  destined  to  damna- 
tion. 

"  Oh,  he  makes  me  tired  !"  was  his  final  exclama- 
tion. "  Perhaps  you'll  like  him.  I'm  sure  I  hope 
you  will.  I'll  give  him  a  letter  to  you.  Show  him 
about  the  city.  Introduce  him  to  Col.  Fuller  and 
his  daughter.  And  above  all,  tell  him  the  best 
story  you  can  about  me,  for  I  need  a  good  word,  I 
assure  you.  You  can't  get  him  to  go  to  a  theatre, 
so  don't  waste  your  time  in  asking  him.  As  far  as 
feminine  beauty  is  concerned  he  only  recognizes 
that  which  shines  from  a  saintly  soul.  I  really  think 
you'll  like  him,  Mark  ;  you  are  almost  a  saint  your- 
self ;  but  he  wearies  me  terribly,  that's  the  truth." 

Much  puzzled,  Melton  thought  a  great  deal  about 
this  description  of  Frank's  twin  brother,  until  he 
was  most  anxious  to  behold  the  strange  individual. 
Frank  was  in  the  gayest  of  his  humors  when  he 
parted  from  Mark,  telling  him  that  he  should  be  gone 
a  month  or  two  on  a  little  business  in  the  South  and 
hoped  to  escape  the  ridge  of  the  Boston  winter  that 
was  nearing  its  severe  stage.  Even  the  tears  of  Bes- 
sie Bright,  which  lay  undried  on  his  shoulder,  seemed 
to  have  no  effect  on  his  spirits,  but  Melton  had  no 
suspicion  of  the  presence  of  these  shining  drops  of 
the  young  girl's  devotion.  Bessie  had  been  unable 
to  restrain  her  feelings  when  Frank  told  her  it  would 
be  a  number  of  weeks  before  she  would  see  him 
again,  but  the  kind  way  in  which  he  drew  her  to  his 
bosom  and  soothed  her  sobs  upon  his  breast  did 
much  to  lessen  her  pain.  He  had  never  told  her  that 
he  loved  her.  though  his  kisses  had  been  frequent* 


"MY   GOD  !    THEY   WILL   BE   KILLED  P'  95 

and  she  did  not  know  that  such  demonstrations  may 
often  mean  quite  the  reverse  of  what  she  thought 
them.  She  hated  to  think  of  long  weeks  without 
him,  and  when  she  tried  to  say  good-bye  the  words 
stuck  in  her  throat  like  the  amen  of  Macbeth. 

Frank  whispered  that  she  must  not  mind  the  ab- 
sence, which  would  at  the  longest  be  brief,  and  that 
when  his  brother  came  she  must  speak  well  of  him, 
if  she  could  ;  and  so  they  parted.  Before  the  street 
car  came  to  overtake  him  he  was  whistling  a  merry 
tune  and  his  countenance  was  as  bright  as  the  heaps 
of  snow  that  reflected  the  gleams  of  the  December 
sun  in  the  yards  adjacent. 

Yes,  Frank  Morley  left  town  with  every  appear- 
ance of  happiness,  though  sad  hearts  might  be 
behind  him.  And  ten  days  later  Clyde  Morley  reg- 
istered at  the  Parker  House,  and  was  given  several 
letters  that  had  waited  for  him  nearly  a  week  itf  the 
pigeon-hole  that  bore  his  final  initial. 

Upon  receiving  his  card,  showing  that  he  was  at 
the  hotel,  Melton  lost  no  time  in  calling.  Before 
Clyde  opened  his  sensitive-appearing  mouth,  Mark 
was  impressed  by  his  face  and  bearing.  He  did 
look  like  his  brother,  and  yet — he  did  not.  Fraflk 
had  the  color  of  health,  this  man  the  ashen  hue  of  a 
brooding  consumption.  Frank  had  a  long  mous- 
tache, somewhat  lighter  than  his  dark  hair.  This 
man  was  shaven  like  a  monk.  Their  eyes  were,  it  is 
true,  quite  similar,  but  while  the  laughing  nature  of 
the  one  shone  forth  in  his  orbs,  those  of  the  oth^r 
seemed  freighted  with  the  sins  and  woes  of  a  universe. 

"Mr.  Melton,  I  am  glad  to  meet  you,"  said  Clyde, 
coming  forward  to  take  the  hand  of  the  young  man 
whose  card  had  just  been  brought  to  him.  "In  a 


96  AN   ORIGINAL   SINNER. 

city  where    I    am   without    acquaintances,  it  ifi 
kind  of  you  to  make  your  appearance  so  early." 

"  So  like  and  yet  so  unlike  !"  That  was  what 
others  had  said,  and  it  was  the  uppermost  thought 
in  Mark  Melton's  mind.  It  was  easy  to  believe  that 
they  were  twins,  but  by  what  freak  of  nature  had 
they  grown  to  such  contrasts  ? 

"  Your  brother  begged  me  to  lose  no  time  in  call- 
ing, said  Melton,  when  he  had  taken  the  chair 
offered  him.  "As  I  am,  perhaps,  his  most  intimate 
friend,  it  was  natural  he  should  ask  this  of  me,  and 
I  am  very  glad  to  put  myself  at  your  disposal." 

Clyde  winced  perceptibly  at  the  words  "your 
brother."  But  he  answered  with  politeness,  if  not 
without  reserve,  that  he  had  heard  much  of  Mr. 
Melton  and  was  very  glad  to  know  him. 

"  It  is  my  first  visit  to  Boston,"  he  went  on  to  say. 
"  I  have  been  spending  some  time  in  the  West,  rest- 
ing. I  studied  rather  hard  at  college — at  Amherst — 
and  wanted  to  recuperate." 

Melton  ventured  to  remark  with  concern  in  his 
voice  that  Mr.  Morley  did  not  seem  to  have  been 
wholly  successful  in  this  endeavor.  But  Clyde 
answered  that  he  really  had  improved  in  health,  and 
that  he  must  not  be  judged  entirely  by  his  face, 
which  was  constitutionally  pale. 

"You  intend  to  enter  the  ministry,  I  think  Frank 
told  me." 

The  same  slight  wincing  was  visible  at  the  men- 
tion of  the  word  "  Frank "  as  at  the  expression, 
"your  brother." 

"  I  used  to  think  so,"  said  Clyde,  a  little  sadly^ 
"but  now  I  grow  to  doubt  it  every  day.  I  feel  more 
and  more  my  unworthiness  for  that  high  and  sacred 


**  MY    GOD  !    THEY    WILL  BE    KILLED  !"  97 

office.  It  is  no  light  matter,  Mr.  Melton,  to  set  up 
as  a  teacher  of  religion  and  morals.  He  who  does  it 
ought  to  be  certain  beyond  peradventure  that  his 
own  character  is  well  grounded." 

Melton  wondered  if  it  was  a  family  trait  of  the 
Morleys  to  underrate  themselves. 

"  Excuse  me  if  I  say  you  are  too  sensitive,"  he 
replied.  "  All  that  can  be  asked  of  any  one  is  to  do 
the  best  he  can." 

"But  which  of  us  does  that!"  asked  Morley, 
earnestly.  "  Who  keeps  himself  as  perfect  as  he  can, 
both  in  deed  and  in  thought  ?  Show  me  a  man  who 
follows  his  very  highest  conscientiousness  and  I 
will  show  you  a  miracle." 

Melton  was  compelled  to  smile. 

"  If  all  men  were  as  particular  as  you,  there  would 
be  no  teachers  of  morals  at  all.  Since,  as  you  imply 
temptation  is  universal,  the  wicked  world  would  be 
left  to  make  its  own  way  unchallenged." 

Clyde  Morley  seemed  pleased  to  have  the  subject 
treated  in  this  sober  manner.  He  liked  this  young 
man  already. 

"  Temptations  must  lessen  with  age,"  he  answered, 
"  if  they  are  resisted  during  the  period  of  youth. 
When  my  hair  is  silvered  and  my  vitality  is  dimmed 
I  may  be  ready  to  enter  on  the  duties  for  which  I  feel 
myself  unworthy  now." 

Melton  wondered,  if  this  ascetic-looking  man, 
with  spiritual  light  shining  out  of  him  as  the  beams 
of  a  beacon  shine  on  the  sea,  was  not  fit  to  teach 
mankind  goodness,  who  else  could  be.  He  sug- 
gested a  walk  in  order  to  acquaint  the  stranger  a  little 
with  the  city,  and  Clyde  willingly  assented.  Think- 
ing that  the  State  House  was  a  good  point  from 


98  AN   ORIGINAL   SINNER. 

which  to  begin  observations,  Mark  bent  his  steps  in 
that  direction,  which  took  him  past  the  door  of  the 
Revere  Club.  Being  anxious  to  turn  the  conversa- 
tion upon  Frank,  he  mentioned  that  this  was  a  club 
to  which  he  belonged.  To  his  surprise  and  a  little 
to  his  consternation  Clyde  asked  if  a  stranger  might 
be  permitted  to  enter. 

As  it  was  at  an  hour  when  a  good  many  of  the 
members  were  probably  present,  Mark  hesitated 
fearing  that  the  impression  on  the  mind  of  his  guest 
might  not  be  the  one  he  desired  to  have  made.  But 
he  saw  no  reason  to  refuse,  and  responded  with  as 
good  grace  as  he  could,  that  he  should  be  pleased  to 
show  him  the  house. 

"  The  club  is  made  up  of  a  lot  of  young  fellows, 
mostly  employed  in  the  wholesale  part  of  the  city," 
he  exclaimed, as  he  was  fumbling  for  his  key.  "  Some 
of  them  are  a  trifle  careless  in  their  speech,  but  they 
are  well  meaning.  If  you  hear  any  thoughtless  lan- 
guage, I  trust  you  will  excuse  it." 

Clyde  made  no  reply.  If  it  came  into  his  mind  to 
say  that  thoughtless  language  was  one  of  the  inex- 
cusable things,  he  did  not  utter  the  sentiment.  As 
they  entered  the  hallway  his  eyes  roved  over  the  pic- 
tures hung  there,  and  Melton  felt  a  sense  of  shame 
that  the)'  were  of  no  better  quality  and  taste.  He 
was  like  one  walking  on  pins  and  needles  for  a  few 
moments,  lest  something  particularly  uncouth  should 
greet  the  ears  of  this  sensitive  man.  At  first  fortune 
favored  him.  Only  three  or  four  of  the  boys  were 
present,  and  seeing  that  he  had  a  stranger  in  his 
company,  they  suppressed  their  tones  until  the  intro- 
duction came.  But  even  before  he  had  uttered  the 


"  MY   GOD  !    THEY    WILL   BE   KILLED  P* 

words,  "  This  is  Mr.  Clyde  Morley,  Frank's  brother," 
every  one  of  them  had  guessed  as  much. 

Enough  had  been  heard  of  the  character  of  this 
brother  of  Frank's  to  sober  most  of  those  present, 
but  his  hand  was  taken  with  a  pleasant  clasp  by  all 
except  Silas  Clarke,  who  contented  himself  with  a 
nod.  Clarke  had  such  a  thorough  contempt  for 
everything  religious  that  he  could  not  bear  to  show 
even  the  outward  form  of  friendship  for  one  of  the 
"psalm-singing"  tribe.  Clyde  did  not  appear  to 
notice  that  his  reception  was  any  different  from  the 
others,  but  Melton  did,  and  he  experienced  a  tempo- 
rary mortification.  To  his  mind,  the  duty  of  polite- 
ness was  above  all,  and  he  determined  to  remon- 
strate with  Silas  the  first  time  he  had  him  alone. 

"  Will  you  lunch  with  me  ?"  he  asked  Mr.  Morley. 

"Do  you  lunch  here,  also?"  said  Clyde. 

"Yes."  Melton  explained  to  him  the  various 
uses  of  the  club-house  to  its  members,  including, 
with  some  inward  doubts,  the  billiards  and  pool, 
and  suppressing  all  reference  to  the  occasional 
games  of  cards,  though  they  were  never  played  for 
a  money  stake. 

"  If  you  will  put  up  with  our  limited  fare,  I  shall 
be  glad  to  have  you  take  a  slight  repast." 

Mark  gave  this  invitation  with  a  fervent  hope  that 
it  would  be  refused,  but  Clyde  accepted  graciously 
and  the  twain  took  a  seat  a  little  to  one  side.  Mark 
felt  that  he  should  be  glad  when  it  was  over  and  he 
had  this  peculiar  stranger  out  on  the  sidewalk  again. 

"Beer  for  two?"  asked  the  waiter,  in  the  most 
matter-of-fact  manner,  and  Mark's  heart  sank  again. 
He  shook  his  head  with  a  somewhat  savage  motion, 
which  the  attendant  did  not  in  the  least  understand. 


100  AN   ORIGINAL   SINNEE. 

Then  excusing  himself  for  a  moment,  Melton  sought 
the  steward,  and  drawing  him  into  the  next  room, 
warned  him  that  he  had  a  solemn  duty  to  fulfil  for 
the  next  half  hour. 

"  This  gentleman  with  me  is  Frank  Morley's 
brother,"  he  said,  excitedly.  "  He  is  a  divinity 
student — a  clergyman  in  embryo,  you  understand. 
I  don't  want  any  more  waiters  coming  to  ask  if  he 
will  have  beer  !  You  must  keep  an  eye  on  each  man 
who  enters  that  door  and  tell  him  to  be  careful  to 
say  nothing  that  might  possibly  offend.  I'm  in  a 
scrape,  and  I  rely  on  you  to  help  me  out." 

The  steward  promised,  with  a  grin,  and  Mark 
returned  to  his  guest.  He  had  hardly  done  so  when 
Charlie  Wilkins  rushed  into  the  room  abruptly. 

"  Oh-me-Gard 7"  exclaimed  that  young  gentleman, 
as  the  steward  made  a  dive  at  him  and  whispered 
the  important  information  in  his  ear.  "Is  it?"  he 
added,  quite  loud  enough  to  be  heard  by  the  parties 
most  interested.  "  Is  it  ?  Oh,  the  de-v\\  !" 

Clyde  heard  very  well,  though  he  affected  not  to, 
and  his  lunch  arriving  at  that  moment  he  proceeded 
to  eat  with  deliberation,  bowing  gravely  to  the 
remarks  with  which  Melton  favored  him.  The  other 
lunchers,  from  their  tables  on  the  opposite  side  of 
the  room,  discussed  the  new-comer  in  low  tones. 

"  Regular  gospel  sharp,  eh  ?"  was  the  comment  of 
the  young  man  from  the  High  street  leather  house. 

"I'll  bet  he's  a  sneak,"  said  Silas  Clarke,  contempt- 
uously. "  There  isn't  one  of  those  fellows  I'd  trust 
when  my  back  was  turned.  Why,  only  this  morning 
we  had  a  dispatch  about  the  elopement  of  Rev.  Mr. 
Harding  with  one  of  his  deacon's  wives.  I've  a 


"  MY    GOD  !    THEY    WILL   BE    KILLED  !"  101 

notion  to  call  Melton  up  before  the  committee  for 
bringing  such  a  fellow  in  here." 

But  to  this  view  Charlie  Wilkins  objected. 

"  A-ny  bwo-ther  of  Fwank  Morley  has  got  a  wight 
to  come  he-re,"  he  said.  "  Not  much  like  Fwank-ie, 
hough,  is  he  ?  Bah  Jove,  boys  !  He  looks  like  the 
pic-ture  of  St.  John,  in  the  La-st  Sup-per." 

"  He  looks  like  a  crank,  that's  all  I  can  see  he 
looks  like,"  growled  Clarke.  "  If  he's  his  twin,  I 
think  all  the  brains  for  the  pair  must  have  gone 
into  the  head  of  the  other  one." 

But  Wilkins  resented  this,  and  as  Clarke  intended 
to  borrow  ten  dollars  of  him  that  afternoon,  he  did 
not  press  the  opinion.  Presently  Charlie  strolled 
over  to  Melton,  and  held  out  his  hand. 

"Beg  paw-don,  old  boy,"  he  drawled,  "but  some 
one  te-lls  me  this  is  a  bwo-ther  of  Fwank  Morley. 
If  that's  the  case,  doncherknow,  I  want  to  shake 
with  him." 

Much  relieved,  Mark  made  the  formal  presenta- 
tion. 

"  Fwank  is  a  gweat  favor-wite  here,"  continued 
Charlie,  imagining  that  he  was  saying  the  most 
agreeable  thing  in  the  world.  "  There  isn't  a  more 
pop-ular  fel-low  in  the  cl-ub  than  Fwank-ie.  He's 
told  us  all  about  you — and — and  we're  doocid  glad 
to  see  you,  doncherknow." 

The  heavy  eyes  looked  up  with  sudden  interest. 

"What  has  my  brother  told  you  of  me  ?" 

A  recollection  of  some  of  the  things  Frank  had 
said  came  upon  the  mental  mirror  of  Mr.  Wilkins, 
embarrassing  him  for  a  moment. 

"Oh,"  he  said,  recovering  himself,  "he  said  you 
were  going  to  pweach  the — the  gos-pel,  and — and 


102  AN   OKIGINAL   SINNER. 

that  sort  of  thing  ;  but  that  you  were  a  vewy  good 
fel-low,  all  the  same,  you  know.  Yes,  he  said  you 
were  not  so  bad  when  one  came  to  know  you,  you 
know.  And,"  he  added,  with  a  great  effort,  "I  more 
than  half  think  he's  wight.  Ya-as,  I  do." 

Mr.  Clyde  Morley  bowed  gravely  again,  and 
turned  once  more  to  Melton,  who  was  red  with 
vexation.  Silas  Clarke  was  smiling  maliciously  and 
some  of  the  others  could  not  maintain  their  coun- 
tenances. Thinking  that  he  had  somehow  "  put  his 
foot  in  it,"  Wilkins  went  back  to  his  seat,  where  his 
error  was  explained  to  him  in  an  undertone  by  the 
young  man  connected  with  the  leather  trade. 
Subdued  ejaculations  of  "  Bah  Jove  !"  and  "  Oh-me- 
Gard  !"  floated  across  to  where  Clyde  Morley  sat. 

"  Shall  we  walk  out  again  ?"  asked  Melton,  glad 
of  any  excuse  to  quit  the  place. 

The  pair  went  out  upon  Beacon  street,  by  the 
State  House,  and  across  the  Common  and  Public 
Garden.  At  the  corner  of  Park  square  an  unfore- 
seen incident  occurred. 

It  is  not  the  easiest  place  in  Boston  to  cross  at  any 
time,  that  same  Park  square,  but  on  this  day  it  was 
particularly  crowded.  Lettie  Fuller  and  Bessie 
Bright  were  trying  to  get  through  the  tangled  maze 
of  teams  and  street  cars.  In  watching  their  chances 
they  did  not  take  into  account  a  double  team 
attached  to  a  dray,  and  it  was  almost  upon  them 
before  they  had  the  least  warning. 

"  My  God  !  They  will  be  killed  !"  cried  Melton, 
springing  to  the  rescue. 

Morley  saw  them  at  the  same  instant  and  was  not 
a  second  behind  his  companion.  In  a  moment  one 
of  his  arms  encircled  Lettie,  already  under  the  feet 


"ICY   GOD!    THEY   WILL   BE    KILLED!"  108 

of  the  animals,  while  with  the  other  hand  he  caught 
the  bridle  of  the  horse  nearest  him  so  violently  that 
the  beast  was  brought  to  a  sudden  halt.  Melton 
had  at  first  directed  his  efforts  to  saving  the  same 
girl,  but  seeing  that  she  was  safe  he  picked  Bessie 
from  the  pavement  and  carried  her  to  the  nearest 
drug-store,  to  which  Clyde  also  assisted  Miss  Fuller. 
Bessie  was  quite  unconscious,  but  Lettie  walked 
without  much  difficulty,  and  after  a  moment's  rest 
announced  that  she  had  sustained  no  serious  hurt. 

The  druggest  examined  the  prostrate  form  of  Miss 
Bright  while  a  boy  ran  for  a  doctor,  and  gave  it  as 
his  opinion  that  she  had  broken  one  of  her  arms. 
When  the  doctor  came  he  had  the  injured  girl  taken 
into  his  office  in  the  Hotel  Pelham,  and  applied  him- 
self to  her  restoration,  which  was  soon  accomplished. 

"  Excuse  me,  Miss  Fuller,"  said  Mark,  as  soon  as 
he  could  find  an  opportunity,  "  permit  me  to  intro- 
duce Mr.  Clyde  Morley,  of  whom  you  may  have 
heard  his  brother  speak." 

Miss  Fuller,  who  had  been  regarding  Mr.  Morley 
with  wide-open  eyes,  made  a  confused  response. 
Melton  paused  to  secure  the  necessary  recognition 
and  then  applied  himself  to  assisting  the  doctor.  It 
was,  as  the  druggist  had  predicted,  a  case  of  broken 
arm,  and  the  physician  decided  to  set  it  at  once. 
The  operation  was  not  difficult  and  soon  the  splints 
and  bandages  were  in  place.  The  knowledge  of  the 
medical  student  made  his  assistance  of  value  and  it 
was  unnecessary  to  send  for  other  aid.  Bessie  bore 
her  pain  with  remarkable  fortitude,  though  she  was 
still  very  weak. 

Miss  Fuller,  who  had  fastened  her  gaze  on  Mr. 
Morley,  turned  it  with  a  strange  fascination  upon  the 


104  AN   ORIGINAL   SINNER. 

surgeon.  This  was  the  life  that  her  would-be  hus- 
band had  chosen,  a  life  that  his  wife  would  have  to 
share,  whether  she  liked  it  or  not.  It  was  this  dread- 
ful kind  of  thing  that  would  enable  him  to  "support 
her,"  to  use  the  expression  Bessie  had  repeated. 

"  Does  she  live  far  from  here  ?"  asked  the  deep, 
rich  voice  of  Mr.  Clyde  Morley. 

"Ten  minutes'  ride  or  so,"  Lettie  answered.  "As 
soon  as  she  can  travel  I  will  have  a  carriage  called. 
I  have  not  been  able  to  recover  my  thoughts  enough," 
she  added,  in  apology,"  to  thank  you  for  the  service 
you  did  me.  If  you  will  favor  us  with  your  address, 
I  will  give  it  to  my  father." 

He  replied  that  he  would  not  trouble  her  father 
over  so  slight  a  service.  But  he  added  that  his 
brother  Frank  had  written  to  him,  speaking  highly 
of  the  Colonel,  and  he  hoped  some  day  to  have  the 
privilege  of  calling.  Miss  Lettie  thanked  him  again, 
saying  she  was  sure  he  would  be  welcome,  and  he 
rose  to  take  his  leave. 

"  There  seems  to  be  nothing  more  that  I  can  do, 
Mr.  Melton,"  he  said  to  Mark.  "  I  have  some  letters 
to  write,  and  think  I  will  return  to  my  hotel.  If  you 
can  call  on  me  later  in  the  evening  I  shall  be  very  glad. 
Perhaps  you  will  dine  with  me  there  at  seven  ?" 

The  invitation  was  accepted,  and  with  another 
bow  to  Miss  Fuller,  Clyde  took  his  leave. 

Lettie  looked  after  him  from  the  window  as  he 
walked  up  the  mall. 

"  That  is  the  kind  of  man  I  could  love,"  she  was 
saying  to  herself. 


HELL   FIRE    AND   THAT   SOKT   OF  THING.  105 


CHAPTER  X. 

HELL    FIRE    AND    THAT    SORT    OF    THING. 

Col.  Fuller  was  considerably  excited  when  the 
carriage  in  which  Miss  Bright  was  reclining,  sup- 
ported by  pillows,  arrived  at  the  house.  A  man  may 
go  through  an  engagement  in  the  army  with  unfal- 
tering heart  and  see  his  comrades  falling  around  him 
with  unmoved  pulses,  and  still  experience  a  strange 
sensation  of  giving  way  when  some  slight  accident 
comes  upon  a  member  of  his  own  family.  When  he 
saw  from  his  window  that  men  were  assisting  a 
female  figure  up  the  steps  he  flew  down  stairs. 

"  What  has  happened  ?  Is  it  Lettie  ?  She  isn't 
killed,  is  she  ?  Ah  !  there  you  are  !  "  he  cried,  per- 
ceiving his  daughter.  "  What  were  you  doing  ? 
Tell  me  all  about  it  !" 

As  Miss  Bright  was  walking  between  the  hackman 
and  Mr.  Melton  there  did  not  seem  to  be  any  reply 
needed  to  at  least  one  of  these  queries.  As  soon  as 
possible  Miss  Fuller  answered  the  others  by  giving 
a  brief  account  of  the  accident. 

"  By  George  !"  exclaimed  her  father.  "  You  must 
be  more  careful,  Lettie  !  Broke  her  arm,  you  say  ? 
I  hope  the  surgeon  has  set  it  well.  It  would  be  a 
deuce  of  a  pity  to  have  it  grow  out  of  shape  !  And 
you  say  Mr.  Morley  saved  you.  Why,  I  thought  he 
was  still  out  of  the  city." 

He  retained  his  clasp  on  the  girl,  taken  in  the  first 
moment  of  alarm.  She  shrank  a  little  from  him, 


108  AN   ORIGINAL   SINNER. 

not  returning  his  pressure,  but  he  did  not  notice 
that. 

"  It  was  not  the  Mr.  Morley  you  know.*'  she 
txplained,  "  but  his  brother,  who  has  recently 
arrived." 

The  Colonel  gave  a  long,  low  whistle. 

"  Not  the  preacher  ?"  he  cried.  "  Not  the  one  he 
told  me  about,  who  believes  in  brimstone  and  hell 
fire  and  that  sort  of  thing !  No,  such  a  fellow 
would  be  too  much  occupied  in  thinking  of  his  soul 
to  see  whether  a  girl  was  under  a  horse's  hoofs  or 
not.  Risked  his  life  !  No  canting  Christian  spouter 
would  have  done  that." 

Lettie  managed  to  draw  herself  away  from  her 
father.  She  wanted  to  get  a  full  view  of  his  face 
when  she  told  him  he  was  mistaken. 

"  It  was  that  one — the  divinity  student,"  she  said, 
impressively.  "  Mr.  Melton  and  he  were  out  walking 
together  when  they  saw  our  danger.  He  risked  his 
life,  indeed  !  Had  it  not  been  for  him  you  would 
probably  have  received  me  in  a  worse  plight  than 
poor  Mrs.  Bright  finds  Bessie." 

Col.  Fuller  was  dumbfounded  for  a  few  moments  at 
this  impossible  statement.  He  began  several  times 
with  "  By  George  !"  and  "  What  the  devil  !"  but  he 
could  find  nothing  to  express  his  feelings. 

"  Damn  him  !"  he  shouted  at  last.  "  He  must  be 
an  out-and-outer !  I'd  like  to  see  a  preacher  of 
that  kind.  It  would  be  refreshing.  I  can't  under- 
stand it.  I've  seen  hundreds  of  them,  and  they  were 
all  no  good.  We  had  them  in  the  army,  and  when 
the  bullets  began  to  whistle  they  were  as  scared  as 
the  weakest  little  dry-goods  clerk  in  the  brigade. 
'What's  the  matter  with  you  !'  I  used  to  say  to 


HELL   FIKE    AND   THAT   SORT   OF  THING.  107 

them.  '  A  rifle-ball  only  means  quick  transit  to 
glory.  Why  don't  you  stand  up  and  face  the  music 
as  I  do  ?'  It  was  useless.  They  turned  tail  and 
skipped  for  the  rear  every  time.*  Bad  as  this  world 
is,  they  were  not  ready  to  exchange  it  for  a  crown  and 
harp.  By  George  !  If  I'd  had  my  way  every  one  of 
the  cowards  would  have  been  drummed  out  of  camp 
to  the  tune  of  the  '  Rogue's  March  !'  And  this 
one  actually  saved  you !  Well,  Well !  wonders 
never  cease !  I'll  have  him  up  here  and  see 
what  kind  of  a  specimen  he  is  before  I'm  twenty- 
four  hours  older  !" 

Have  him  up  there!  A  strange  sensation  of  joy 
ran  over  the  girl's  body.  She  would  see  this  hand- 
some man  again,  so  tall,  so  straight,  so  self-reliant, 
so  courteous.  She  would  see  him,  under  her  own 
roof,  not  surreptitiously,  but  with  the  approbation 
of  her  father  !  She  felt  that  the  harsh  epithets  the 
Colonel  had  used  in  reference  to  the  "cloth  "  would 
be  softened  in  the  presence  of  this  man,  so  different 
apparently  from  others  of  his  profession.  A  friend- 
ship might  be  established  between  him  and  the 
Fullers  that  would  ripen  into  something  warmer  as 
the  days  went  by  ! 

Lettie  had  once  thought  herself  in  love  with  Frank 
Morley.  She  had  imagined  it  because  he  was  almost 
the  only  interesting  young  man  she  had  ever  known, 
but  when  she  found  his  attentions  devoted  to 
another,  and  when  he  coolly  attempted  to  forward 
her  marriage  with  his  friend  Melton,  pride  and  self- 
respect  fought  in  her  favor  against  him.  Now,  in 
this  twin  brother  of  his,  she  saw  all  Frank's  excel- 
lencies magnified,  and  a  thousand  new  ones  of 
*  I  am  sure  the  record  would  disprove  this.— A.  R. 


108  AN   ORIGINAL   SINNER. 

which  he  had  shown  no  evidence.  Even  as  she 
icflected  on  these  things,  her  heart  sank.  What  had 
she  to  offer  in  exchange  for  these  attributes  ?  She 
had  never  felt  her  insignificance  as  she  did  that  day, 
her  total  incapacity  for  winning  such  a  man  as  she 
Conceived  Clyde  Morley  to  be. 

But  he  was  coming  !  She  could  look  into  his  face 
again  !  He  had  said  he  would  come,  and  her 
erratic  father  had  promised  to  give  him  a  hearty 
welcome. 

Bessie  was  delirious  that  night  and  in  her  troubled 
sleep  she  uttered  the  word  "  Frank  "  many  times. 
Her  aunt  knew  whose  name  it  was,  and  wished  with 
all  her  heart  that  the  owner  of  it  were  there  to  ex- 
tend his  sympathy  to  the  injured  girl.  The  good 
lady  had  settled  it  in  her  own  mind  that  this  couple 
was  destined  to  be  married,  and  she  thought  a  little 
companionship  during  the  days  of  convalescence 
would  be  a  valuable  aid  toward  that  end.  She  did  not 
know  that  Frank  had  not  left  his  address.  She  did 
not  know  that  the  girl  had  run  anxiously  to  meet 
the  postman  every  day  since  he  went — though  he 
had  not  promised  definitely  to  write — and  had  been 
in  every  instance  disappointed.  So  she  whispered, 
"  Yes,  dear,"  fifty  times  during  the  long  night. 
"  Yes,  dear,  Frank  will  come." 

Toward  morning  Bessie  opened  her  eyes.  She 
had  been  half  conscious  for  some  minutes,  and  had 
heard  the  soothing  words  in  a  vague  way. 

'*  Is  Frank  in  Boston  ?"  she  asked,  with  no  sign  of 
bashfulness. 

"  No,  my  dearie,"  replied  Mrs.  Bright.  "  But  if  he 
knew  you  were  hurt,  he  would  come  very  quickly, 
I'm  sure." 


HELL  FIRE   AND    THAT   SORT   OF   THING.  109 

"  I'm  glad  he's  not  here,"  sighed  Bessie.  "  I  would 
not  like  to  have  him  see  me  like  this.  What  does 
the  doctor  say  ?  Shall  I  have  to  lie  here  long  ?" 

Mrs.  Bright  encouraged  her  all  she  could  and  bade 
her  be  quiet,  as  it  would  tire  her  to  talk. 

Bessie  had  heard  of  Clyde,  and  knew  he  was 
expected  in  the  city.  She  thought  it  a  good  omen 
that  he  had  helped  save  her  and  her  friend  from  the 
death  that  was  so  imminent.  She  did  not  know  that 
Clyde's  effort  had  been  directed  entirely  to  the  sal- 
vation of  Miss  Fuller,  and  that  had  he  picked  her  out 
instead  she  might  now  have  been  sitting  up  with 
whole  limbs,  though  perhaps  Lettie  would  be  suffer- 
ing in  her  place.  It  was  pleasant  to  think  of  one 
belonging  to  Frank's  family  having  done  something 
for  her,  and  in  the  calm  quiet  which  the  thought 
evolved  she  fell  asleep  again,  this  time  a  healthful, 
invigorating  slumber. 

If  the  girl  with  the  broken  arm  managed  to  snatch 
a  brief  rest,  the  other  girl  who  had  been  rescued 
could  not  get  even  a  moment  of  unconsciousness. 
A  thousand  times  between  dark  and  daylight  did 
she  feel  around  her  again  the  arms  of  Clyde  Morley 
— that  combination  of  strength  and  gentleness. 
He  had  carried  her  twenty  steps  or  more  before  she 
recovered  enough  to  tell  him  she  was  able  to  walk, 
and  even  then  he  had  not  ceased  to  support  her,  as 
if  he  feared  she  had  over-estimated  her  strength. 
There  was  a  quality  in  the  clasp  that  was  a  revela- 
tion to  her.  It  was  the  clasp  of  a  Man — not  merely 
of  a  human  being  of  the  masculine  sex — of  one  who 
had  the  attributes  of  a  man  in  mind  as  well  as  body. 
Resembling  his  brother  as  he  did  to  a  degree  that 
was  almost  startling,  they  were  as  unlike  in  their 


110  AN   ORIGINAL    SINNER. 

effect  upon  her  as  two  total  strangers  could  have 
been. 

As  she  lay  there  on  her  sleepless  couch,  Lettie 
resolved  that  when  she  had  an  opportunity  she 
would  ask  Clyde  Morley  to  write  to  his  brother  of 
Bessie's  accident,  that  Frank  might,  if  there  was  any 
honor  in  him,  send  her  at  least  one  letter  to  say  that 
he  was  sorry.  None  of  the  others  could  tell  where 
he  was,  for  Mark  had  said  as  much  a  few  days  before, 
but  Clyde  would  know. 

In  the  morning,  after  bathing  her  tired  eyes  and 
obliterating  as  far  as  possible  the  effects  of  sleepless* 
ness  from  her  face,  Lettie  went  to  visit  Bessie.  The 
greeting  was  cordial  enough.  Bessie  said  she  was 
sure  she  would  soon  be  about  again,  and  she  was 
glad  Lettie  had  suffered  so  little  harm.  Then  she 
asked  a  great  many  questions  about  their  rescuer, 
until  Lettie  was  puzzled  how  to  reply. 

They  were  the  ordinary  questions  of  a  girl  of 
nineteen.  Was  he  tall  ?  Was  he  handsome  ?  What 
color  were  his  eyes  and  his  hair?  Did  he  look  so 
very  much  like  his  brother  ?  She  was  dying  of  curi- 
osity to  see  him.  Ah,  he  was  coming  to  call  on  Col. 
Fuller  !  Perhaps  she  could  catch  a  glimpse  of  him 
through  the  crack  in  the  doorway.  It  was  such  a 
shame  she  was  not  able  to  sit  up  and  see  him.  But 
he  would  certainly  call  more  than  once.  He  must, 
in  fact,  if  she  had  to  send  for  him  on  purpose.  She 
had  a  right  to  give  him  her  personal  thanks  for  his 
bravery,  and  if  he  remained  a  week  in  Boston  she 
would  manage  to  arrange  it  some  way. 

When  the  doctor  came  to  examine  the  arm,  Bessie 
was  in  such  good  spirits  that  he  prophesied  a  speedy 
recovery.  Before  he  had  finished  Mr  Melton  called. 


HELL   FIRE   AND  THAT   SORT   OF  THING.  Ill 

and  by  virtue  of  his  semi-medical  standing  was 
admitted  to  the  chamber  where  the  injured  girl  lay. 
Mark  even  stretched  his  privilege  by  staying  a  little 
while  after  the  physician  departed,  for  he  wanted  to 
talk  with  Bessie  about  Clyde  Morley,  in  which  sub- 
ject he  rightly  guessed  she  would  be  interested. 

"  I  had  dinner  with  him  last  evening,  at  the  Parker 
House,"  he  said,  when  he  had  finished  a  minute  des- 
cription of  the  stranger.  "  He  interests  me  very 
much.  I  wonder  what  is  the  real  basis  of  the  trouble 
between  him  and  Frank." 

"  Trouble  ?"  repeated  Bessie. 

"  Yes,  the  estrangement.  Frank  never  speaks  of 
him  except  in  the  most  cynical  way,  and  Clyde  told 
me  last  night  that  he  did  not  know  his  brother's 
address.  Of  course  they  are  not  at  all  alike,  but 
that  should  not  make  them  hate  each  other,  and  they 
come  pretty  near  doing  that." 

Bessie's  interest  in  Clyde  Morley  suffered  a  severe 
relapse.  She  did  not  care  to  know  a  man  who  hated 
Frank. 

"I  suppose  you  can't  tell  me  where  he  is,"  said 
Melton,  in  a  half  interrogation.  "I  didn't  know  but 
he  might  have  told  you,"  he  added,  apologetically,  as 
the  color  rose  to  her  cheek.  "  Lodgers  sometimes 
do  leave  their  addresses,  you  know — in  case  of  mail, 
or  anything  to  be  forwarded." 

"  I  do  not  think  \\t  gave  it  to  my  aunt,"  replied 
Bessie,  in  a  low  voice,  "and  there  was  no  reason  why 
he  should  give  it  to  me.  He  said  he  should  travel  so 
constantly  that  it  would  be  useless  to  pretend  to  say 
where  he  might  be  on  any  given  date.  His  mail 
never  came  here  to  the  house.  He  paid  for  his  room 
in  advance,  so  there  was  nothing  else  re«qwire<V 


112  AN  ORIGINAL  SINNEB. 

Mark  listened  to  her  with  mild  wonder.  Had  she 
then  gotten  entirely  over  that  partiality  for  Frank 
that  she  at  one  time  exhibited  ?  He  remembered  the 
conversation  in  which  he  had  urged  his  friend  to  be 
fair  and  straightforward  with  this  girl,  and  con- 
cluded that  an  understanding  must  have  been  arrived 
at.  Frank  was  a  strange  fellow,  whom  he  had  never 
pretended  to  comprehend,  but  he  liked  him  immense- 
ly, and  could  not  forget  the  little  favors  he  had  done 
him,  notably  the  efforts  put  forth  in  his  behalf  with 
the  Fuller  family.  He  wondered  a  good  deal  over 
the  lack  of  affection  between  the  brothers,  but  he 
thought  a  hundred  unknown  reasons  might  account 
for  that.  Sometimes  matters  of  property,  or  fond- 
ness of  one  over  the  other  on  the  part  of  parents, 
caused  such  things.  He  determined,  however,  to  say 
things  in  Frank's  favor  whenever  he  had  a  good 
opportunity,  as  a  piece  of  fairness  and  loyalty. 

Clyde  did  not  have  much  business  to  occupy  him 
in  Boston.  He  strolled  about  the  city  and  into  the 
suburbs,  and  at  least  once  every  day  met  Melton  for 
a  lunch  or  a  dinner,  in  a  quiet  way,  where  they  could 
talk  together.  It  was  more  than  a  week  before  he 
took  occasion  to  visit  the  Fullers,  though  he  received 
a  written  invitation  from  the  Colonel,  through  the 
hand  of  Melton.  He  did  not  think  there  was  any 
need  of  haste,  he  said,  afterwards,  and  he  feared  it 
would  look,  if  he  went  too  early,  as  if  he  was  anxious 
to  be  thanked  for  the  little  service  he  had  done. 
Mark  did  not  take  him  a  second  time  to  the  club,  for 
he  feared  that  either  Clarke,  in  his  malice,  or 
Wilkins,  in  his  good  intentions,  would  say  something 
to  make  it  unpleasant.  Their  lunches  were  taken 
either  at  Parker's  or  at  some  of  the  minor  restaurants. 


HELL   FIRE   AND  THAT   8OET   OF  THING.  113 

"I  wonder  how  long  it  will  be  before  your  brother 
Visits  Boston  again,"  Mark  said,  on  one  of  these 
occasions,  as  they  were  sitting  back  from  the  table 
after  the  coffee. 

"  I  have  no  idea." 

Silence  followed. 

"  He  frequently  spoke  of  you,"  continued  Mark, 
"and  gave  me  a  strong  desire  to  know  you  per- 
sonally. When  he  said  you  were  coming  here  I 
asked  him  to  arrange  some  way  that  I  could  meet 
you,  and  I  am  much  obliged  to  him  for  doing  so." 

Clyde  met  this  politeness  with  an  appreciative 
bow,  but  still  his  lips  were  sealed.  Melton  resolved 
on  a  bold  move. 

"  I  am  afraid  you  do  not  like  your  brother  as  well 
as  I  do,"  he  said. 

Clyde  looked  up,  as  if  surprised. 

"I  am  obliged  to  like  him,  since  he  is  my  brother," 
he  corrected.  "  It  would  be  more  correct  to  say  I 
do  not  approve  of  him.  He  does  not  follow  his  best 
impulses  ;  or,  if  he  does," — he  hesitated  an  instant — 
"  they  are  not  of  the  highest  order." 

Melton  paused  a  little  while  to  digest  this  state- 
ment. 

"  I  think  you  misjudge  him,"  he  answered,  finally. 
"  He  may  not  have  a  nature  exactly  like  yours,  but 
he  is  a  noble,  generous,  whole-souled  fellow,  who 
is  liked  by  every  man  who  meets  him." 

Clyde  seemed  to  undergo  a  mental  struggle. 

"  And  by  every  woman  ?''  he  said,  suggestively, 

Mark  caught  his  breath. 

"  It  is  nothing  against  a  man  because  women 
find  him  attractive,  I  hope,"  said  he. 

"That  depends.     If  he  is  honest  with  them,  if  he 


114  AN   ORIGINAL    SINNER. 

says  or  does  nothing  to  give  them  false  notions  of 
his  intentions,  if  he  treats  them  as  he  would  wish 
other  men  to  treat  his  sisters,  if  he  had  any,  that  is 
one  thing.  But  you  know  very  well,  Mr.  Melton, 
that  all  men  do  not  follow  this  golden  rule  in  their 
dealings  with  the  opposite  sex." 

Yes,  Mark  knew  it.  He  knew  it,  as  every  man 
who  walks  up  and  down  this  garden  called  the 
earth  must  know  it.  But  he  did  not  see  how  that 
statement  could  be  connected  with  Frank. 

"  Pardon  me,  Mr.  Morley,"  he  replied,  "  if  I  tell 
you  that  your  brother  is  no  such  person  as  your 
words  imply.  I  have  lived  closely  to  him  for  many 
months,  and  I  do  not  think  a  man  can  harbor  that 
kind  of  thoughts  and  keep  them  always  to  himself. 
Never  in  the  time  I  have  known  him  has  the  least 
indelicacy  manifested  itself  in  his  speech  or  actions. 
The  most  that  could  be  said  is  that  he  is  careless 
toward  women — that  while  they  lose  their  hearts  to 
him  he  sees  little  to  care  for  in  them." 

Clyde  was  giving  the  speaker  his  utmost  attention. 

"  Let  me  ask  you,"  he  said,  as  Mark  closed,  "  if 
you  can  conceive  a  more  dangerous  position  for  a 
young  woman  than  the  one  you  mention — loving  a 
man  who  does  not  know  what  love  is.  What  can 
help  her  being  at  his  mercy  if  he  chooses  to  ruin  her 
life?" 

Melton's  loyalty  nerved  him  to  the  task  of  prov- 
ing to  this  prejudiced  mind  that  it  was  laboring 
under  a  delusion. 

"  I  tell  you,"  he  answered,  "  Frank  Morley  is  as 
honorable  in  the  matter  of  women  as  he  is  in  his 
relations  with  men.  I  will  give  one  instance  to  prove 
what  I  say,  and  I  do  it  under  the  seal  of  confidence, 


HELL  FIRE   AND  THAT  SORT  OF  THING.  115 

for  perhaps  I  have  no  right  to  mention  it  at  all.  You 
saw  the  young  girl  whose  arm  was  broken  the  other 
day,  by  the  horses,  the  one  I  pulled  from  under  their 
feet.  It  is  not  too  much  to  say  that  she  was  smitten 
with  Frank  at  first  sight.  He  began  to  accompany 
her  to  matinees  and  walks.  In  conversation  with  me 
one  evening  he  admitted  that  he  had  no  idea  of  mar- 
rying— that  a  wedded  life  would  be  distasteful.  I 
boldly  alluded  to  Miss  Bright,  saying  that  she  was 
learning  to  care  too  much  for  him,  and  that  if  he 
meant  what  he  said,  he  should  cease  his  attentions. 
He  seemed  to  coincide  fully  with  my  opinion,  when  it 
was  presented  to  him  in  that  light,  and  though  he 
rooms  at  the  house  I  am  sure  his  relations  to  this 
girl  have  become  of  the  ordinary  kind  between  a 
lodger  and  the  family  of  his  landlady.  If  he  had 
been  like  some  men,  do  you  think  he  would  have 
hearkened  to  me  so  readily  ?" 

Convinced  that  no  argument  could  be  stronger 
than  this,  Melton  tipped  back  in  his  chair  and  waited 
for  his  companion  to  speak.  Clyde's  pale  face  was 
set  and  the  weary  expression  in  his  eyes  seemed  more 
pronounced  than  ever. 

"He  is  my  brother,"  he  said,  as  if  admitting  an 
unpleasant  fact,  "  but  that  is  no  reason  why  I  should 
be  blind  to  his  faults.  How  can  you  be  sure  he  has 
relinquished  his  interest  in  that  girl  ?" 

'•Is  it  not  proof  enough,"  cried  Melton,  "that  she 
does  not  even  possess  his  address  ?  She  told  me  yes- 
terday that  he  had  not  given  it  to  her,  and  that  she 
Knew  no  reason  why  he  should  write." 

"  But  she  must  love  him  still,"  said  Clyde,  re- 
proachfully. "  He  has  succeeded  in  making  her  life 
unhappy,  and  then  gone  his  way.  Did  you  ever  see 


116  AN   ORIGINAL   SINNER. 

a  cruel  lad  pull  a  wing  from  a  butterfly  and  then 
decide  that  he  would  maim  it  no  further  ?" 

Melton  was  nonplussed  for  a  moment. 

"What  more  could  he  have  done,"  he  demanded, 
"  than  to  leave  her,  when  he  has  resolved  never  to 
marry." 

"It  is  an  infamous  resolve!"  replied  Morley,  his 
eyes  flashing.  "  Marriage  is  the  duty  of  every  true 
man.  In  no  other  state  can  he  keep  himself  pure 
after  he  reaches  an  age  like  his  or  mine.  In  no 
other  way,"  he  added,  coloring  a  little,  "  except  it  be 
by  invoking  the  special  favor  of  his  Heavenly 
Father  !" 

The  two  men  left  the  restaurant,  and  as  Melton 
walked  toward  home  he  felt  as  he  never  had  before 
what  real  religion  might  mean  to  an  aspiring  soul. 


CHAPTER    XI. 

A    DANGEROUS    COMPANION. 

Lettie  Fuller  had  looked  for  the  appearance  of 
Clyde  Morley  every  evening  for  more  than  a  week. 
Her  father  had  remained  indoors  with  the  same  view, 
and  both  had  grown  impatient  at  his  non-appearance. 
The  Colonel  felt  a  sense  of  something  like  pique.  He 
had  written  to  Mr.  Morley  inviting  him  to  come  and 
receive  his  thanks,  and  had  received  a  reply  stating 
that  the  young  man  would  respond  as  soon  as  he 
found  time.  It  was  one  of  the  results  of  his  military 
training  that  made  the  Colonel  expect  a  more  speedy 
compliance  with  a  request  of  this  kind,  and  when 


A   DANGEROUS   COMPANION.  117 

two  or  three  evenings  passed  and  Clyde  did  not 
come,  he  gave  vent  to  his  impatience  in  no  very  com- 
plimentary expressions. 

"  I  wonder  if  that  fellow  expects  me  to  stay  in 
all  winter  on  his  account !"  he  blurted  out.  "  By 
George,  if  he  does,  he'll  find  himself  mistaken  I  I'm 
not  in  the  habit  of  dancing  attendance  on  any  man 
of  less  rank  than  a  general.  If  he  isn't  here  by  eight 
o'clock  to-morrow  evening,  he'll  find  me  out  when 
he  does  come.  I  can't  lose  my  time  at  the  club  on 
any  such  nonsensical  business  as  this  !" 

Lettie  vouchsafed  no  answer.  She  half  sympa- 
thized with  him,  and  had  even  begun  to  fear  that 
Mr.  Morley  would  leave  the  city  without  calling. 
Mark  Melton  had  given  her  an  idea  of  his  excessive 
modesty  and  disinclination  to  be  patronized.  There 
was  nothing  she  could  do,  however,  but  wait.  And 
she  was  too  used  to  her  father's  querulous  moods  to 
mind  them  especially. 

"  I  suppose  the  confounded  preacher  is  off  attend- 
ing some  prayer  meeting  !"  growled  the  Colonel. 
(He  seemed  to  think  that  all  the  contumely  in  the 
world  could  be  crowded  into  that  word  "  preacher.") 
"He's  down  among  the  North  End  sailors,  talking 
bosh  to  them  about  their  souls,  or  hobnobbing  with 
some  of  the  lady  managers  of  the  missions.  The 
brother  of  such  a  sensible,  hard-headed  fellow  as 
Frank  Morley,  too  !"  (He  forgot  for  the  moment 
that  he  had  never  cared  a  great  deal  for  Frank.) 
"  If  he  hadn't  pulled  you  out  from  under  the  feet  of 
those  horses  I'd  see  him  damned  before  I'd  let  him 
enter  my  door.  All  I  want  is  to  do  the  decent  thing 
and  let  him  go.  What  the  devil  can  he  be  so  busy 


118  AN   ORIGINAL   SINNER. 

about  ?  Does  he  think  I'm  going  to  stay  in  every 
night  like  a  damned  dormouse  ?" 

Not  being  familiar  with  the  habits  of  the  animal  in 
question,  and  having,  in  fact,  an  idea  that  it  was  not 
famed  for  remaining  at  home  after  nightfall,  Lettie 
still  said  nothing.  The  next  evening  her  father  waited 
till  half-past  eight,  and  then  went  fora  walk  of  an 
hour,  to  "  show  the  preacher,"  as  he  expressed  it,  that 
he  "couldn't  make  a  monkey  of  him."  When  ten 
o'clock  came  and  no  Clyde  Morley  he  broke  out  into 
angry  epithets  and  sent  Lettie  to  bed  with  a  scowl 
on  his  brow. 

"Good-night,  papa," she  said,  kissing  his  cheek  as 
usual. 

"Good-night,"  he  replied,  still  growling.  "I 
sha'n't  wait  again  for  him  !  He  can  wait  for  me  the 
next  time.  I'm  not  to  be  fooled  like  this." 

The  girl  felt  her  face  flush  at  the  suggestion  that 
Clyde  might  come  when  her  father  was  absent.  In 
that  case  she  would  have  him  for  a  little  while  to 
herself,  a  consummation  not  at  all  to  her  disliking. 
And  strangely  enough  that  is  exactly  the  way  it  did 
turn  out.  When  Col.  Fuller  had  been  regularly  to 
his  club  as  usual  for  three  consecutive  nights,  having 
ceased  to  expect  his  visitor,  Mr.  Morley  called. 

A  servant  girl  showed  him  up.  Before  the  knock 
came  on  her  door,  Lettie  heard  his  voice. 

"  Yes,  I  will  wait  till  he  returns,"  he  was  saying. 
"I  have  plenty  of  time." 

"  He  will  come  at  ten,"  said  the  domestic.  "  He 
is  as  regular  as  the  clock,  sir." 

Miss  Lettie  opened  the  door  and,  suppressing  her 
emotion,  recognized  the  visitor  only  by  a  bow  and 
extended  hand.  The  usual  formalities  were  ex« 


A   DANGEROUS   COMPANION.  119 

changed  and  she  repeated  to  him  what  ne  already 
knew  about  the  absense  of  the  Colonel  and  the  hour 
at  which  he  would  be  expected.  She  felt  it  her  duty 
to  add  that  her  father  was  undoubtedly  at  the 
Veterans  Club,  and  that  she  could  send  a  messen- 
ger thither,  if  he  desired.  But  to  her  relief  Clyde 
answered  that  he  would  not  disturb  him,  and  that 
he  had  quite  as  lief  wait  till  his  ordinary  hour  for 
returning. 

"  I  feel  that  a  sort  of  apology  is  due,"  he  said,  "for 
my  delay  in  answering  his  kind  letter  in  person,  but 
my  time  has  been  much  occupied.  I  knew  I  should 
have  to  take  my  chances  of  finding  him  at  home.  I 
hope,"  he  added,  "  that  I  shall  not  be  a  hindrance 
to  anything  you  may  be  doing,  for  if  you  will  give 
me  a  book  I  can  make  the  time  pass  very  well." 

She  told  him  she  was  doing  nothing  particular, 
and  even  at  the  words  she  felt  a  guilty  blush  man- 
tling her  cheek.  Perhaps  he  felt — this  strict  relig- 
ionist— that  idleness  was  in  itself  a  fault.  She  knew 
she  should  be  afraid  of  him,  afraid  of  his  opinion, 
afraid  of  saying  something  that  had  better  have 
been  left  unsaid.  But  he  seemed  so  kind  in  his 
manner,  and  drew  her  on  so  easily,  that  she  found 
herself  talking  to  him  within  a  few  minutes  as  if  she 
had  known  him  all  her  life. 

"And  so  you  and  your  father  live  here  alone  ?"  he 
said,  as  if  much  interested. 

"Yes,  sir,  that  is,  in  a  way  it  is  living  alone,  but 
we  are  really,  as  much  as  we  wish  to  be,  a  part  of 
the  family  of  Mrs.  Bright,  our  landlady.  We  get 
most  of  our  meals  with  her.  And  her  niece — the 
young  lady  who  was  injured,  you  know — is  my  com- 
panion a  good  deal  of  the  time." 


120  AN   ORIGINAL   SINNER. 

That  moved  him  to  inquire  the  condition  of  Miss 
Bessie,  and  he  expressed  his  gratification  at  learning 
that  she  was  now  able  to  sit  up  in  a  chair. 

"  I  have  heard  from  her  once  or  twice,  through 
Mr.  Melton,*'  he  said,  "  and  knew  that  the  case  was 
progressing  favorably.  He  tells  me  he  calls  here 
quite  often — to  play  cribbage  with  your  father/  —he 
added,  quickly,  as  she  seemed  about  to  qualify  the 
statement. 

"  He  comes  once  a  week,"  she  replied,  with  slight 
confusion.  "Cribbage  is  a  game  of  which  my  fatVer 
is  very  fond.  He  acquired  a  taste  for  it  in  the  army, 
many  years  ago.  He — he  never  plays  for  money,  or 
anything  of  that  kind — merely  for  the  excitement  of 
the  game,  and  the  skill  employed." 

Mr.  Morley  set  her  at  ease  by  saying  that  he  saw 
no  great  harm  in  cribbage  in  itself,  though  he  never 
played  it. 

"  But  I  have  had  too  busy  a  life  to  find  the  time,** 
he  said.  "  It  was  less  than  two  years  ago  that  I 
graduated  from  Amherst,  and  since  then  I  have  trav- 
eled a  good  deal." 

She  wanted  to  talk  with  him  about  himself,  and 
she  knew  no  better  way  than  to  say  outright  that 
she  understood  he  intended  to  become  a  clergyman. 

"  I  am  not  so  sure  of  that  as  I  once  was,"  he  re- 
plied, a  little  sadly,  she  thought.  "  I  am  coming  to 
doubt  a  great  deal  of  late." 

"  About  your  faith  ?'    she  asked,  timidly. 

"  Oh,  no !  That  is  grounded  on  a  rock.  My 
doubt  is  whether  I  am  called  to  the  pulpit  ;  whether 
I  am  fitted  for  so  great  a  work.  To  be  candid,  I  find 
myself  more  and  more  inclined  to  think  I  am  not,  as 
the  days  go  by." 


A.   DANGEROUS    COMPANION.  121 

They  talked  in  this  vein  for  some  minutes,  and 
before  they  finished  the  subject  she  took  occasion  to 
mention  that  her  father  was  a  total  disbeliever  in 
revealed  religion.  She  warned  him  that  the  Colonel 
could  hardly  refrain  from  expressing  his  views  on  all 
occasions,  and  expressed  the  hope  that  no  acri» 
monious  controversy  would  arise  between  them. 

"That  could  hardly  be,"  he  smiled.  "  I  should 
like  to  convince  him,  if  he  would  let  me,  that  he  is 
wrong  ,  but  if  we  continued  to  differ,  it  would  be,  on 
my  side  at  least,  with  good  humor.  If  I  may  ask 
the  question,  Miss  Fuller,  I  trust  you  do  not  agree 
with  him  in  his  conclusions  ?" 

She  had  no  hesitation  in  telling  him  the  precise 
truth.  They  had  not  talked  together  an  hour  for 
nothing.  He  drew  everything  out  of  her  as  easily 
as  the  sun  draws  up  the  water  in  the  pool.  She  had 
never  given  the  matter  of  religion  much  thought. 
She  was  not  an  unbeliever,  but  hardly  knew  enough 
about  it  to  call  herself  a  believer.  She  was  willing  to 
learn.  She  would  be  glad  to  have  some  one  capable 
of  doing  so  teach  her. 

She  was  not  at  all  satisfied  with  the  outcome  of 
this  admission  when  he  suggested  that  she  should 
attend  church  and  put  herself  under  the  guidance  of 
the  wife  of  the  pastor  or  some  similarly  competent 
lady.  She  had  half  hoped  that  this  saintly  young  man 
would  offer  to  instruct  her  himself,  and  she  knew  she 
would  believe  whatever  he  told  her,  as  if  it  came 
on  tables  of  stone  direct  from  the  Invisible. 

"  You  know  my  brother — my  brother  Frank — quite 
well,  I  believe  ?"  he  said,  changing  the  conversation 
rather  suddenly. 


122  AN   ORIGINAL   SINNER. 

"  Not  so  very  well,"  she  stammered.  "  He  has 
been  here,  with  Mr.  Melton,  to  see  papa." 

"And  not  to  see  his  daughter?"  he  asked,  inquisi- 
tively but  kindly. 

She  reddened  deliciously. 

"  It  was  not  on  my  account  that  he  took  lodgings 
here,"  she  replied.  "  His  attentions  have  all  been 
given  in  another  quarter — to  Miss  Bright." 

Her  old  jealousy  of  Bessie  had  flown  with  the 
advent  of  this  new-comer,  and  she  saw  no  harm  in 
telling  him  all  about  it. 

"I  wish  to  speak  to  you  of  her,"  said  Clyde,  im- 
pressively. "  It  is  a  harsh  thing  to  say  of  a  brother, 
you  may  think,  but  the  fact  of  his  relationship  does 
iiot  lessen  in  the  least — it  even,  in  fact,  increases  my 
duty.  In  one  word,  he  is  not  a  good  companion  for 
her.  It  would  be  useless  for  me  to  tell  her  this. 
She  would  think  I  had  some  ulterior  motive.  But  I 
can  say  it  to  you,  and  if  you  can  do  anything  to 
lessen  their  intimacy,  I  hope  you  will  do  so." 

Never  in  the  twenty  years  of  her  life  had  any  per- 
son— to  say  nothing  of  any  man — let  fall  a  hint  like 
this  upon  the  ears  of  Lettie  Fuller.  It  was  a  novelty 
of  the  first  class  to  her  young  mind.  The  intima- 
tion was  one  not  to  be  mistaken.  It  conveyed  a 
great  deal  more  than  the  mere  words  seemed  of 
necessity  to  imply.  She  had  thought  of  such  things 
•—she  could  not  have  been  twenty  and  in  good 
health  if  she  had  not.  To  hear  them  spoken  of  was  a 
different  matter,  and  what  surprised — almost  startled 
— her,  was  that  she  did  not  mind  it. 

"  I  do  not  know  what  I  can  say,"  she  replied,  see- 
ing that  he  expected  an  answer.  "  I  have  seen  very 
little  of  him.  I  know  Bessie  likes  him,  and  I  had 


JL   DANGEROUS   COMPANION.  123 

supposed,  until  lately,  that  he  reciprocated  her  senti- 
ments. But  I  hear  he  went  away  without  leaving 
her  his  address,  and  that  he  has  not  written.  And 
I  have  thought — perhaps — it  would  amount  to  noth- 
ing, after  all." 

The  clear  eyes,  troubled  though  they  seemed, 
were  on  her. 

"  It  is  true  his  attentions  are  likely  to  amount  to 
nothing,  so  far  as  they  might  refer  to  marriage" 
said  Clyde.  "  It  is  his  boast  that  he  is  not  a  marry- 
ing man — that  he  intends  to  pursue  a  life  of  celibacy 
to  the  end.  But  that  does  not  make  him  a  less 
dangerous  companion  for  a  girl  as  pure  and  good  as 
I  believe  Miss  Bright  to  be.  The  most  terrible 
results  might  follow  if  she  should  continue  to  retain 
her  present  affection  for  him.  I  cannot  talk  as 
plainly  as  I  would  like,  Miss  Fuller,  but  you  under- 
stand. My  brother  must  not  be  allowed  to  ruin  that 
young  life." 

Again  the  knowledge  that  she  ought  to  mind  this 
kind  of  talk — and  that  she  did  not — swept  over 
Lettie  Fuller.  The  divinity  student  meant  well  in 
what  he  said  ;  but  how  was  it  that  she,  so  unused 
to  hearing  such  things  discussed,  listened  to  him 
with  the  sang  froid  oi  a  matron  twice  her  age  ? 

"I  hope,"  she  said,  "  you  are  wrong  in  thinking 
he  would  be  willing  to  perpetrate  any  such  in- 
iquity." 

Clyde  Morley  sighed  deeply. 

14  Willing  !"  he  cried,  with  emotion.  "  Who  of  us 
can  say  what  he  would  be  willing  to  do — what  he 
could  resist  doing — under  certain  temptation  ?  He 
must  be  kept  from  her — that  is  the  only  way.  I 
wish  there  was  some  good  excuse  to  ask  him  to  get 


124  AJT   ORIGINAL   SINNER. 

another  lodging.  They  will  be  thrown  together  too 
much  if  he  comes  back  here.  Help  me  in  this,  Miss 
Fuller,  and  earn  my  gratitude  and  the  consciousness 
of  doing  a  meritorious  action." 

His  anxiety  seemed  intense.  The  girl  answered 
that  she  would  do  anything  that  she  could  ;  but  she 
asked,  with  some  show  of  diffidence,  why  he  did  not 
write  or  speak  to  his  brother,  himself,  on  this  matter. 

"  I  never  speak  to  him,  if  I  can  help  it,  and  seldom 
write,"  he  replied,  his  brow  darkening.  "  We  are  too 
much  unlike  to  find  pleasure  in  each  other's  company. 
He  would  not  pay  the  least  attention,  and  if  I  should 
give  him  advice,  it  would  be  more  apt  to  lead  him  on 
in  the  wrong  path  than  to  dissuade  him  from  it.  No, 
Miss  Fuller,  I  must  rely  upon  you  for  the  present. 
Perhaps  you  may  do  much  good.  Will  you  give  me 
your  hand  upon  it  ?" 

It  was  the  most  natural  thing  in  the  world  that  she 
should  place  her  hand  in  his,  as  she  did,  without 
hesitation.  He  pressed  it  gently,  almost  absent- 
mindedly,  and  before  either  of  them  spoke  again  her 
father's  step  was  heard  on  the  stair. 

"  Col.  Fuller,  I  presume,"  said  Clyde,  rising,  and 
proceeding  to  introduce  himself.  "I  am  Clyde 
Morley." 

The  Colonel,  in  the  presence  of  his  guest,  forgot 
for  the  moment  the  anger  that  had  brooded  in  his 
heart,  and  met  the  extended  palm  with  a  warm 
grasp. 

"  I  should  have  known  you  anywhere,  sir,"  he  said 
heartily,  "  from  your  resemblance  to  Frank.  I  am 
glad  to  see  you,  sir.  I  hope  you  have  not  been 
waiting  long." 

Clyde  explained  that  he  had  feared  to  interrupt 


A  DANGEROUS  COMPANION.  125 

some  affair  at  the  club,  and  had  persuaded  Miss 
Fuller  not  to  send  for  her  father. 

"  Affair  at  the  club  !"  repeated  the  doughty  Col- 
onel. "  I  was  doing  nothing  at  all,  sir,  but  throwing 
an  evening  away.  I  would  have  left  fifty  clubs  to 
meet  you.  Why,  you  saved  my  daughter's  life,  sir  !" 

"  You  overstate  the  fact,  I  am  sure,"  said  Clyde, 
modestly.  "  At  any  rate,  what  I  did  any  one  else 
could  have  done  had  they  happened  to  be  there.  It 
cost  me  nothing,  and  with  your  permission  we  will 
allude  to  it  no  more." 

The  Colonel  brought  [his  fist  down  on  the  centre 
table. 

"  But  I  must  allude  to  it,  sir  !"  he  protested.  "  She 
is  my  only  child,  sir !  I  shall  never  forget  it,  sir ! 
As  long,  sir,  as  I  have  a  roof  to  shelter  my  head,  you 
will  be  welcome  under  it !" 

Clyde  thanked  him  and  adroitly  turned  the  con- 
versation into  other  channels.  But  before  they  had 
proceeded  far,  Miss  Lettie  came  to  lean  over  her 
father's  shoulder  and  press  upon  his  weather-beaten 
face  the  good-night  kiss.  The  visitor  watched  the 
tableau  with  interest.  Twenty  years  of  age,  and  yet 
with  all  the  simplicity  of  a  child  of  ten  ! 

Lettie  knew  that  the  rule  which  she  was  obeying 
was  inexorable.  Nothing  but  the  presence  of  a  guest 
had  justified  her  in  remaining  out  of  bed  beyond  her 
ordinary  time.  She  had  never  hated  so  much  to 
leave  the  room,  for  she  wanted  to  observe  this  strange 
man  and  to  listen  to  every  word  he  said.  When  she 
turned  to  say  good-night  to  him  also,  he  only 
responded  with  a  bow,  seeming  to  have  turned  all 
his  attention  to  his  host. 

She   did   not   know   what   else    she    could   have 


126  AN   OKIGIEAL   SINNER. 

expected,  but  she  was  disappointed.  A  moment 
before  her  father  arrived  he  had  held  her  hand  in 
his,  and  her  heart  beat  a  happy  tune  at  the  contact. 
It  was,  to  be  sure,  over  an  agreement  about  third 
and  fourth  parties,  bu',  it  was  something  to  her, 
though  it  might  have  meant  nothing  to  him.  It  was 
a  drawing  together,  and  now  they  were  pushed 
apart.  And  by  whom  ?  By  her  father  !  The  little 
rebellion  that  had  arisen  in  her  breast  took  on  a  new 
lease  of  life  as  she  contemplated  the  situation. 

"  A  preacher  !"  cried  the  Colonel,  the  next  morn- 
ing, in  allusion  to  his  guest  of  the  preceding  even- 
ing. "  He  ought  to  know  better  than  to  have  any- 
thing to  do  with  such  nonsense,  and  I'm  going  to 
tell  him  so  before  I'm  through  with  him.  Why,  he's 
a  gentleman,  damn  his  soul !  If  he  ever  calls  when 
I'm  out,  treat  him  like  a  lord,  Lettie,  treat  him  like 
a  lord  !" 


CHAPTER   XII. 

"  HO    WOMAN    KNOWS   HERSELF." 

Bessie's  arm  grew  better  as  the  weeks  advanced 
and  soon  she  was  about  the  house  as  usual,  with  the 
injured  member  in  a  sling.  Her  manners  were  not 
so  blithesome  as  formerly,  for  the  long  absense  of 
Frank  Morley  and  the  total  lack  of  news  of  him  wore 
upon  her.  She  had  conceived  one  of  those  strong 
first  loves  that  time  has  so  little  effect  in  wearing 
away.  He  had  not  said  very  much  to  her.  Even 
when  he  had  pressed  his  lips  to  her  cheek  or  stolen 


"NO   WOMAN   KWOWS    HERSELF."  127 

an  arm  about  her  waist  the  action  was  more  like  one 
girl  embracing  another  than  of  a  sweetheart.  She 
felt  that  she  had  no  right  to  complain  of  him. 

One  afternoon  a  ring  came  at  the  front  door,  and 
Bessie,  as  was  frequently  her  custom,  answered  it. 
A  stranger  stood  at  the  threshold.  She  gave  a  low 
cry,  and  was  about  to  throw  herself  into  his  arms, 
when  she  comprehended  who  he  was.  For  a  second 
she  had  been  deceived  by  the  remarkable  similarity 
in  the  features  of  the  brothers,  and  thought  that 
Frank  stood  before  her.  The  joy  at  seeing  him 
again,  and  the  unexpectedness  of  it,  had  nearly 
made  her  commit  a  grave  error.  Realizing  the 
strangeness  of  her  appearance,  Bessie  drew  back 
instantly  and  Mr.  Morley  announced  his  name. 

"  I  called  to  see  if  Col.  Fuller  was  at  home,"  said 
Clyde,  gravely. 

"  No,  sir,  he  is  out  just  at  present,"  came  the 
trembling  response,  "  but  you  may  come  in  and 
wait,  if  you  please." 

"Is  Miss  Fuller  in?" 

"She  is  out  also,  but  she  will  soon  return." 

"Very  well,  I  will  enter." 

As  he  removed  his  hat,  upon  passing  through  the 
doorway,  Bessie  saw  that  the  resemblance  lessened. 
The  hair  combed  straight  back  on  both  sides  and 
the  extraordinary  paleness  of  the  broad  forehead  was 
not  at  all  like  Frank's.  And  still  there  was  the 
Morley  look  that  could  not  be  mistaken.  She 
would  have  known  that  if  Frank  had  a  twin  brother 
in  the  world  this  was  he. 

"  Pardon  me,"  spoke  the  full,  deep  voice  of  the 
stranger,  "  but  I  think  you  must  be  Miss  Bright. 
The  condition  of  your  arm  and  a  dim  recollection  of 


128  AN  ORIGINAL   SINNER. 

your  face  as  I  saw  it  some  days  ago  in  a  physician's 
office,  tells  me  I  am  correct." 

Bessie  admitted  the  truth  of  his  supposition  and 
said  she  wished  to  thank  him  for  what  he  had  done 
in  behalf  of  herself  and  friend  that  day. 

"No  more  on  that  subject,  I  beg,"  he  smiled. 
"  Col.  Fuller  has  quite  satiated  me  with  compliments 
for  what  was  so  easily  accomplished.  I  will  say, 
however,  that  Mr.  Melton  showed  courage  worthy  of 
praise  ;  and  skill,  also,  later,  in  assisting  the  sur- 
geon." 

Try  as  she  might  she  could  not  be  easy  in  his 
presence.  He  did  his  best  to  relieve  her  of  her  em- 
barrassment, but  she  could  not  forget  that  her  manner 
when  she  first  opened  the  street-door  must  have 
caused  him  suspicion.  He  talked  to  her  about  Bos- 
ton, about  the  weather,  about  the  Fullers.  Then  he 
turned  the  conversation  into  another  channel. 

"  You  know  my  brother,"  he  said,  "  I  believe.  I 
fancied,  a  few  moments  ago,  that  you  had  been 
momentarily  deceived  by  the  resemblance  between 
him  and  me.  And  I  gathered  that  had  I  really  been 
he  you  would  have  been  better  pleased." 

This  was  a  bold  beginning,  but  he  knew  that  his 
time  with  her  might  be  brief,  and  that  what  he  had 
to  do  had  best  be  done  quickly.  He  had  seen  Lettie 
several  times  since  she  had  promised  to  talk  with 
Bessie  upon  this  matter,  and  she  had  been  compelled 
to  admit  that  she  had  not  as  yet  made  even  a  begin- 
ning, though  she  fully  intended  to  do  so. 

Bessie  was  intensely  confused,  but  the  very  abrupt- 
ness of  his  remark  was  its  salvation.  She  could  not 
dispute  that  it  was  true  in  the  face  of  such  evidence 
as  she  had  given  him. 


"NO   WOMAN   KNOWS   HEBSELF."  129 

"I  think,  sir,"  she  answered,  as  soon  as  she  could 
recover  herself,  "  that  one  is  usually  better  pleased 
to  see  acquaintances  than  strangers." 

He  bowed  as  if  no  one  could  deny  that  proposi- 
tion. 

"  I  wish  I  could  say  to  you  what  I  feel  I  ought," 
said  he. 

She  scented  the  arraignment  of  Frank  that  was  in 
his  mind  and  roused  herself  to  meet  the  emergency. 

"  I  think  you  need  say  nothing,  if  it  refers  in  any 
way  to  your  brother.  I  already  know  that  you  are 
not  partial  to  him,  that  you  are  in  the  habit  of  speak- 
ing disparagingly  of  him.  He  is  a  lodger  in  the 
house,  and  I  could  not  listen  to  anything  to  his  dis- 
favor. If  you  wish  to  say  anything  of  that  kind,  I 
will  call  my  aunt,  and  you  can  speak  to  her." 

The  dark  eyes  of  the  divinity  student  grew  darker. 

"  If  you  prefer  it,  I  will  tell  her  what  I  know,  but 
you  had  better  think  a  little  before  you  compel  me 
to  do  that." 

Bessie  turned  toward  him,  her  hand  on  the  door- 
knob, her  cheeks  aflame.  What  did  he  know  ? 
What  could  he  say  ?  Perhaps  enough  to  make  her 
aunt  refuse  Frank  a  room  in  the  house  when  he 
returned,  and  to  order  her  niece  -not  to  see  or  speak 
to  him  again. 

"  There  is  no  need  of  your  telling  either  of  us  any- 
thing, I  assure  you,"  she  said,  nervously.  "  Mr. 
Morley  has  behaved  himself  perfectly  here.  He  is 
liked  by  every  person  in  the  house,  even  by  Col. 
Fuller,  who  seldom  makes  friends  with  any  one. 
There  can  be  nothing  to  justify  you  in  giving  us  an 
ill  impression  of  him  ;  unless  he  is  a  burglar  or 


130  AN   ORIGINAL   SINNER. 

murderer,  or  something  of  that  kind,  by  which  we  or 
our  lodgers  are  put  in  mortal  danger." 

Bessie  delivered  herself  of  this  speech  with  a 
haughty  air,  and  thought  it  would  dispose  of  this 
disagreeable  gentleman's  threats,  but  she  did  not 
reckon  aright. 

"  I  am  surprised  that  you  should  excite  yourself 
in  such  a  manner,  Miss  Bessie,"  was  Clyde's  calm 
reply.  "  I  am  not  about  to  discharge  an  agreeable 
duty.  I  would  rather  speak  well  than  ill  of  a 
brother.  I  do  not  wish  to  say  a  word  to  Mrs. 
Bright,  but  you  will  compel  me  to  do  so  if  you 
refuse  to  give  me  your  attention  for  a  few  moments. 
Have  a  little  patience,  for  I  will  not  detain  you 
long." 

Desperate  between  the  horns  of  the  dilemma  that 
confronted  her,  Bessie  did  as  requested,  after  a  brief 
struggle  with  her  feelings. 

"  Do  me  the  honor  to  believe  in  my  sincerity,"  said 
Mr.  Morley,  when  she  had  assumed  again  the  atti- 
tude of  a  listener.  "  If  my  brother  was  what  you 
.'have  suggested — a  burglar  and  a  murderer — you 
;admit  that  I  would  have  the  right  and  the  duty  to 
ilet  you  know  that  fact.  Supposing  I  tell  you  he  is 
capable  of  inflicting  upon  this  house  a  wrong  as 
great  as  homicide  or  robbery,  even  greater  ?" 

Bessie's  lip  curled  slightly  with  sarcasm.  She 
understood  his  allusions  and  believed  them  wholly 
unfounded.  Frank  had  never  done  anything  to 
justify  the  insinuation.  He  had  sometimes  given 
her  a  quiet  kiss  or  a  half-embrace,  but  never  had  he 
pressed  his  advantage  or  uttered  a  word  that  all  the 
world  might  not  have  heard  without  lessening  its 
respect.  He  had  roomed  in  the  house  some  time 


a»O   WOMAN   KNOWS    HEKSELF."  131 

before  his  departure,  and  if  this  disposition  had  been 
in  him,  surely  it  would  have  come  to  the  surface  in 
that  time.  Why  should  his  brother  hate  him  so, 
when  he  was  such  a  favorite  with  all  others  who 
knew  him  ? 

"  You  can  go  on,  if  you  have  not  finished,"  she 
said,  looking  fearlessly  into  the  dark  eyes  of  her 
informant. 

"  I  will  do  so,"  said  he,  raising  his  voice.  "  Frank 
Morley  is  not  a  man  with  whom  any  good  girl  should 
ever  be  alone.  He  boasts  that  he  shall  not  marry, 
and  yet  he  allows  women  to  plant  his  image  in  their 
hearts  until  it  is  so  deep-rooted  that  to  tear  it  out  is 
almost  to  take  life  itself.  When  he  finds  that  his 
power  has  grown  sufficient  to  make  the  effort  an  easy 
one,  he  will  gather  in  the  prey  he  has  snared,  break- 
ing her  heart  without  compunction." 

The  girl's  face  grew  hard  as  he  proceeded. 

"Do  you  know  of  a  single  instance  where  he  has 
ever  done  this  ?"  she  asked.  "  Such  accusations 
should  not  be  founded  on  a  mere  say-so." 

He  flushed  faintly  at  the  insinuation  that  he  was 
not  to  be  credited  on  his  word  alone. 

"  How  much  proof  do  you  want  ?"  he  inquired. 
"  Of  the  first  half  you  are  a  living  witness.  Yes,  for 
knowing — as  you  have  been  told — that  he  will  never 
marry,  you  love  him  as  no  girl  should  love  a  man 
who  is  not  to  be  her  husband.  Of  the  latter  half  I 
mean  to  keep  you  from  knowing,  if  I  can." 

Astonished  at  his  audacity,  Bessie  could  not 
immediately  reply.  How  did  he  know  the  deep 
love  she  had  for  his  brother  ?  Undoubtedly  Mark 
Melton  had  told  him  of  Frank's  statements  regard- 
ing marriage,  and  very  likely  of  his  conversations 


132  AN   OBIGINA.L   BINNEB. 

with  her  upon  that  matter.  But,  admitting  all  this, 
he  had  no  right  to  suppose  that  she  would  prove 
the  easy  victim  he  imagined.  It  was  one  thing  to 
love — to  worship — Frank  Morley,  and  quite  another 
to  submit  to  unwomanly  conduct  at  his  suggestion. 
She  believed  herself  fully  capable  of  meeting  such  a 
situation,  should  it  arise,  with  credit  to  herself  and 
honor  to  her  good  name.  The  more  she  thought  of 
the  character  of  Clyde's  remarks,  the  more  indignant 
she  became  ;  but  she  had  decided  that  she  had  better 
endure  them  alone  than  to  have  her  aunt  hear  them. 

"  Is  that  all  you  feel  it  necessary  to  say  to  me, 
sir  ?"  she  asked. 

"  That  is  all,"  he  said,  drawing  a  full  breath. 
"  Except  that  I  would  like  to  leave  my  address  with 
you,  in  case  I  can  be  of  service.  And  I  assure  you, 
Miss  Bright,  you  will  never  call  on  me  in  vain." 

"  You  may  leave  it." 

It  was  better  to  accept  the  address  than  to  talk 
about  it.  He  wrote  it  for  her  on  one  of  his  visiting 
cards.  Then  he  rose  and  took  up  his  hat. 

"  You  do  not  believe  what  I  have  told  you  ?"  he 
said,  interrogatively,  as  he  stood  in  the  attitude  of 
departure. 

She  looked  up  quickly. 

"  Come,  my  child,"  he  said,  kindly.  "  The  truth. 
Do  you  ?" 

"  No,"  she  faltered. 

"  But  you  must,"  he  said.  "  It  will  be  better  for 
you  to  believe  it  now,  than  by-and-by,  when  it  is  too 
late." 

All  the  dislike  she  had  conceived  for  this  man 
faded  suddenly  away.  She  doubted  his  statements, 
she  had  no  faith  in  his  prophesies,  but  she  felt  that 


**  NO  WOMAN   KNOWS    HERSELF."  133 

his  motive,  inconceivable  as  it  seemed,  was  a  good 
one. 

"  If  your  brother  were  all  you  think,"  she  said, 
"which  I  am  sure  he  is  not,  it  would  make  no  differ- 
ence with  me.  I  may  not  know  him,  but  I  certainly 
know  myself." 

"The  eternal  error  !"  he  mused.  "  The  cardinal 
mistake  of  women,  ever  since  Satan  beguiled  our  com- 
mon mother.  No  woman  knows  herself.  No  man 
knows  himself.  A  word,  a  touch,  a  look,  and  the 
angel  becomes  a  demon.  On  the  sunny  slopes  of  the 
great  Italian  volcano  are  the  houses  and  gardens  and 
vineyards  of  peasants,  who  lie  down  to  sleep  every 
night  in  the  same  fancied  security  as  you.  Then 
there  comes  the  sudden  stream  of  fire  and  lava  and 
they  are  destroyed.  People  will  learn  something 
from  their  fate,  we  say  :  but,  as  soon  as  the  earth 
forms  again,  other  peasants  seek  the  same  mountain 
sides  to  court  the  same  end.  Little  girl,  little  girl, 
do  not  wait  till  the  eruption  is  heard,  for  then  you 
cannot  escape  !" 

With  a  courteous  bow  he  left  her  and  went  out 
into  the  avenue.  He  had  forgotten  his  intended 
visit  to  the  Fullers.  For  a  long  time  she  stayed 
there  in  the  parlor  pondering  on  what  he  had  said. 

Frank  Morley  a  heartless  libertine  !  It  could  not 
be!  Would  he  have  been  so  cold  to  her  if  he  had  had 
these  base  intentions  ?  It  was  not  his  fault  if  she  had 
learned  to  love  him.  Surely  a  man  had  a  right  to 
prefer  a  single  life  if  he  chose.  And  a  little  hope 
fluttered  in  Bessie's  brain,  and  would  not  be  stilled, 
that  the  time  might  come  when  this  resolution  would 
be  put  aside  and  the  intention  of  youth  give  way  to 
the  maturer  judgment  of  later  years. 


134:  AN   ORIGINAL   SINNER. 

Bessie  mentioned  Clyde's  visit  to  Lettie  when  she 
returned,  saying  he  had  called  to  see  her  father. 
Something  whispered  to  the  Colonel's  daughter  that 
he  would  return  in  the  evening, and  when  her  father 
put  on  his  hat  and  coat  to  go  to  his  club  she  made 
no  objection.  It  had  happened  more  than  once  that 
Clyde  had  called  very  soon  after  Col.  Fuller  left  the 
house,  and  he  had  not  always  waited  till  his  return. 
This  night  he  came  again,  was  shown  up  by  the  ser- 
vant, and  was  welcomed  by  Lettie. 

"I  am  so  sorry  you  have  missed  father,"  she  said, 
straining  her  conscience  for  the  falsehood.  "He  has 
only  been  gone  a  few  minutes." 

"  Are  you  ?"  he  replied.  "  Well,  to  tell  the  truth,  I 
am  not.  I  want  to  talk  with  you  a  little  alone." 

Her  heart  seemed  almost  to  stand  still.  What  was 
he  going  to  say  ? 

"I  shall  not  be  much  longer  in  the  city,"  he  con- 
tinued, immediately,  and  the  anxious  straining  in  her 
breast  gave  way  to  a  spasm  of  pain.  "  I  am  much 
disturbed  in  my  mind  over  many  things,  and  Bo.cton 
does  not  seem  to  offer  me  any  solution  of  my  ridu/es. 
I  have  been  treated  well  here,  and  have  made  some 
agreeable  acquaintances,  yourself  and  father  among 
the  number,  but  I  feel  constrained  to  move  on.  You 
do  not  understand  the  things  that  trouble  me,  and  I 
could  hardly  explain  them  to  you.  My  hope  is  that 
time  and  frequent  changes  of  scene  will  set  me  right. 
At  present  my  chief  mission  is  to  follow  the  course 
of  a  certain  relation  of  mine,  and  prevent,  if  it  lies  in 
my  power,  the  mischief  I  fear  he  is  too  ready  to  com- 
mit. He  is  coming  back  soon,  and  I  would  not  like 
*o  be  here  when  he  returns.  I  have  heard  from  him. 


**KO  WOMAN   KNOWS    HERSELF."  135 

He  has  been  in  the  South  and  now  is  at  New  York, 
where  I  shall  see  him  in  a  few  days." 

She  was  very  sorry  he  was  going  and  said  so  in  a 
subdued  tone.  She  did  not  mean  he  should  know 
how  deeply  he  had  enlisted  her  feelings. 

'*  It  is  a  terrible  thing,"  he  went  on,  "  to  have  a 
brother — a  twin  brother — whose  whole  life  is  the 
antithesis  of  what  it  should  be,  and  be  unable  to  turn 
him  into  the  right  path.  The  sentiment  that  I  have 
for  him  it  is  impossible  to  explain  adequately.  It 
seems  to  me  sometimes  as  if  we  were  one  personage, 
and  that  whatever  sins  he  commits  are  in  a  sense  my 
own.  In  the  half  hour  that  I  spent  to-day  with  the 
young  woman  below — did  she  tell  you  I  called  ? — I 
almost  felt  as  if  I  and  not  he  was  to  blame  for 
her  pensive  face,  might  yet  be  guilty  of  wreck- 
ing her  fair  young  life.  Miss  Fuller,  promise  me 
still  to  try,  after  I  am  gone,  to  prevent  the  latter 
catastrophe." 

Again  he  took  her  hands  in  his,  in  what  seemed  to 
be  an  agony  of  entreaty.  And  in  a  very  low  voice 
she  said  she  would  talk  with  Bessie  about  it. 

"  I  spoke  to  her  to-day,"  said  he,  unable  to  con- 
ceal the  fact.  "  I  should  have  thought  myself  to 
blame  had  I  not  done  so  when  the  opportunity  was 
so  good.  This  is  a  secret  that  I  must  ask  you  to 
keep.  I  warned  her  against  him  with  all  the 
eloquence  I  could  use,  but  I  do  not  know  with  how 
much  effect.  At  first  she  was  the  picture  of  indig- 
nation. She  defended  him  at  every  step,  telling  hovr 
circumspect  had  been  his  conduct — as  if  I  did  not 
know  how  shrewd  he  can  be  on  occasion  and  how 
long  he  is  willing  to  wait,  so  that  he  be  sure  of  his 
quarry  in  the  end.  All  that  T  accomplished*  so  far 


136  AN   ORIGINAL   SINNER. 

as  I  could  see,  was  to  put  her  a  little  on  her  guard, 
but  when  I  am  away  some  one  must  continue  to 
give  her  advice.  I  shall  see  him  at  New  York  and 
plead  with  him,  but  I  have  small  faith  in  my  efforts. 
He  will  come  to  this  house  and  resume  his  old  lodg- 
ings, and  that  innocent  child  will  be  in  constant 
danger  unless  eternal  vigilance  is  exercised." 

Miss  Fuller  was  gratified  that  he  put  such  trust  in 
her.  She  promised  all  he  asked,  and  blushed  as  he 
thanked  her. 

"  I  can  read  human  nature  in  men  or  women  very 
well,"  was  his  next  statement.  "  I  fear  for  Miss 
Bright  because  I  see  she  is  one  who  gives  her  love 
without  reservation.  If  my  brother  had  devoted 
himself  to  some  other  woman — to  you,  Miss  Lettie, 
for  instance — I  should  have  less  fears  of  the  result. 
Pardon  me  if  I  seem  personal  in  saying  that  you 
show  a  strength  of  mind  that  would  make  you 
impervious  to  such  dangers." 

Then  Lettie  reddened  again,  partly  from  pleasure 
and  partly  from  fear  that  she  did  not  deserve  such 
a  compliment.  Clyde  watched  her  narrowly,  but 
her  eyes  were  bent  on  the  carpet  and  she  did  not  see 
him.  After  a  brief  stay  he  bade  her  good-night, 
saying  that  it  might  also  be  good-by  for  the  present, 
and  asking  her  to  convey  his  regards  to  her  father 
in  case  he  should  be  unable  to  call  before  his  depart- 
ure. He  left  her  trembling  and  weak,  for  he  did  not 
say  when,  if  ever,  he  should  return  to  Boston,  and 
gave  no  intimation  that  he  expected  to  write. 
Women  cannot  ask  these  things,  and  she  saw  him 
depart  as  the  marooned  sailor  sees  his  ship  disap. 
pear  on  the  blue  horizon. 

Had  she  been  able  to  look  into  one  of  the  cham- 


MIDNIGHT   AND   BESSIE.  137 

bers  of  the  Parker  House  an  hour  later,  she  might 
have  found  that  comfort  which  it  is  said  comes  from 
the  company  of  misery.  Half  undressed,  with  his 
hair  dishevelled,  with  his  pale  face  whiter  than  ever, 
Clyde  Morley  gazed  fixedly  into  space  from  his 
window. 

"  Ah,  God  !"  he  was  saying.  "  Must  this  last 
forever?  Is  there  no  way  of  escape  from  this  yawn- 
ing chasm  into  which  my  soul  stands  in  such  immi- 
nent peril  of  being  dashed  to  death  !" 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

MIDNIGHT    AND    BESSIE. 

There  was  great  rejoicing  at  the  Revere  Club 
when  Frank  Morley  returned.  A  special  lay-out 
was  provided  by  the  steward  in  the  evening,  and 
Morley,  who  had  no  idea  of  what  was  in  the  wind, 
was  piloted  to  the  club-rooms  by  Mark  Melton  and 
ushered  suddenly  into  the  presence  of  nearly  the 
entire  membership  of  the  organization,  who  greeted 
him  with  three  cheers  and  enthusiastic  handshaking. 

"The  Revere  hasn't  been  itself  at  all  since  you 
went  away  !"  cried  Silas  Clarke.  "  Everybody  has 
moped  until  I,  for  one,  thought  seriously  of  propos- 
ing to  disband  the  whole  thing.  Hanged  if  it  doesn't 
seem  good  to  see  you  !" 

"  Doocid  glad,  'pon  me  honah  !"  said  Charlie  Wil- 
kins,  touching  Frank's  fingers  languidly.  "  It's  like 
a — a — bweeze  in  the  de-sert  to  have  you  he-re  again, 
de-ar  boy." 


138  AN   ORIGINAL    8INNEB. 

Every  one,  including  the  young  man  in  the  leather 
business  on  High  street,  joined  in  similar  manifesta- 
tions of  pleasure,  and  Frank  responded  gracefully. 
He  had  been  a  little  sober,  but  the  warmth  of  this 
welcome  revived  him.  Whatever  had  happened 
during  the  ten  weeks  of  his  absence,  this  reception 
made  him  speedily  like  his  old  self.  He  gave  a 
brief  account  of  some  of  the  places  he  had  visited, 
but  returned  evasive  replies  to  questions  as  to  the 
nature  of  the  business  that  had  taken  him  away. 

"And  how  have  you  all  been  ?"  he  asked,  turning 
the  conversation  from  his  personal  affairs  as  soon  as 
he  could.  "There  must  be  some  news  for  you  to 
give  as  well  as  for  me  to  impart." 

"  There's  been  nothing  interesting  here,"  re- 
sponded Clarke.  "  Nothing  at  all.  It's  been 
duller  than  Chelsea." 

"  You — you  forget  that  his  bwoth-er  came  here 
one  da-ay,"  lisped  Wilkins.  "  Bah  Jove,  Fwankie, 
that  was  a  starter !  Melton  the-re  bwought  him. 
For  an  howah  we  didn't  dare  bweathe  for  fear  we'd 
shock  him." 

Frank,  whose  face  had  changed  at  the  mention  of 
his  brother,  recovered  himself  speedily,  and  said  he 
hoped  things  were  not  so  bad  as  that. 

"  He  didn't  scare  me  any,  I'll  tell  you,"  said  Clarke, 
"  If  he  hadn't  been  your  brother,  I  should  have  said 
something  on  purpose  to  stir  him  up.  I  hate  these 
gospel  shouters  so  much,"  he  explained,  "  that  it  was 
all  I  could  do  to  keep  from  showing  it." 

"You  didn't  tell  me  Clyde  had  been  at  the  club," 
said  Frank,  turning  to  Melton,  who  sat  by  his  side 
drinking  in  every  word  he  spoke. 

"I  haven't  had    time  to  tell    you  everything,"  re- 


MIDNIGHT    AND   BESfllE.  139 

torted  Mark,  with  a  smile.  "  You  have  kept  me  talk- 
ing pretty  busily,  but  you  must  remember  you  have 
only  been  in  town  three  hours." 

Frank  admitted  the  truth  of  this  observation  and 
then  seemed  to  think  he  ought  to  say  something  in 
his  brother's  defense. 

"  I'm  sure  you  found  Clyde  a  gentleman — in  his 
manners,"  said  he.  "  We  don't  agree  on  most  things 
— he  and  I — but  he's  generally  polite,  I  believe. 
Perhaps  he's  the  one  who's  right,  too,  on  the  things 
where  we  differ.  Upon  my  word,  sometimes  I  think 
he  is." 

This  was  said  in  a  manner  that  attracted  the 
notice  of  all  present,  and  Frank  might  have  been  led 
into  a  vein  which  he  would  have  regretted  had  not 
Charlie  Wilkins  come  to  the  rescue  with  an  account 
of  the  waiter's  going  up  to  Clyde  and  asking  whether 
he  would  have  beer. 

"  It  was  the  fun-niest  thing  I  ever  heard,  be-Gard  !" 
he  exclaimed,  amid  the  laughter  of  the  throng. 
<4 '  Will  you  have  be-er  ?'  says  Patsy,  as  innocent  as  a 
gi-rl.  And  Mr.  Min-ister  looks  up  at  him,  as  much 
as  to  say,  ^  Be-er  1  What  the  dooce  is  be-er  ?'  " 

The  laugh  was  so  general  that  it  became  conta- 
gious, and  Frank  was  finally  obliged  to  join  in  it. 
But,  thinking  that  this  might  grow  unpleasant,  he 
asked  what  was  on  at  the  theatres  ;  and  the  talk 
drifted  away,  as  talk  always  does  drift,  from  that  to 
a  hundred  other  things  ;  and  so  the  evening  passed 
t'll  they  arose  to  separate. 

"  What  did  Clyde  manage  to  fill  up  his  time  with  in 
this  town  so  long  ?"  asked  Frank  of  Melton,  as  they 
strolled  home  together  through  the  nearly  deserted 
Streets.  "  I  know  he  helped  you  pull  a  couple  of 


14:0  AN   OKIGINAL   SINNER. 

girls  out  from  under  some  horses,  and  that  he  went 
up  to  Col.  Fuller's  to  receive  his  adoration,  but  how 
else  he  spent  that  long  time  is  a  puzzle  to  me." 

Mark  grew  grave  at  the  recollection  of  the  acci- 
dent. 

"He's  a  brave  fellow,"  he  said.  "If  he  hadn't 
sprung  to  the  rescue  without  losing  a  second,  Miss 
Fuller  would  have  been  killed,  I  am  afraid.  It 
galled  me  to  hear  Wilkins  making  fun  of  him,  but  I 
couldn't  tell  this  story  there  without  running  the 
risk  of  some  more  nonsensical  pleasantry.  He  is  so 
modest,  too.  It  was  more  than  a  week  before  he 
went  to  the  Colonel's,  and  then  he  laughed  at  the 
notion  that  he  had  done  anything  worth  talking 
about." 

Frank  said  nothing  to  show  that  he  disagreed 
with  these  statements,  and  Melton  was  gratified. 
The  truth  was  that  Frank's  mind  was  wandering 
at  the  moment  and  he  hardly  heard  what  was  being 
said. 

"And  Bessie's  arm  was  broken,"  he  mused,  aloud. 

"Yes,"  responded  Mark.  Then  he  went  on  to  ex- 
plain that  had  not  both  he  and  Clyde  sprung  at  first 
for  Lettie,  the  injury  might  have  been  prevented, 
possibly.  "  But  we  had  no  time  to  make  plans,"  he 
added.  "  He  had  no  means  of  knowing  how  dear  she 
was  to  me,  and  his  grasping  her  instead  of  the  other 
one  was  a  mere  accident." 

A  cloud,  thick  and  sombre,  rested  upon  the  brow 
of  Frank  Morley,  though  he  did  his  best  to  drive  it 
away. 

"You  haven't  seen  Bessie  yet,  I  think  you  said," 
remarked  Melton. 

"  No.     She  was  out  somewhere  when  I  arrived,  and 


MIDNIGHT  AND    BESSIE.  14:1 

I  stayed  just  long  enough  to  put  my  things  away, 
before  coming  down." 

Melton  tried  to  find  something  in  the  tone  to  show 
whether  his  friend  cared  especially  about  the  matter 
under  discussion,  but  he  could  discern  nothing.  He 
had  at  first  thought  of  speaking  to  him  again  about  the 
girl,  alluding  to  the  conversation  they  had  had  before 
Frank  went  away,  but  on  the  whole  it  seemed  wisest 
not  to  do  so.  He  knew  Frank  had  not  written  to 
her,  and  it  was  a  long  time  since  Bessie  had  spoken 
of  him.  Probably  it  was  all  over  for  both  of  them, 
and  it  would  be  a  mistake  to  rake  up  the  recollection. 
Frank  left  Mark  at  the  latter's  door,  and  went  on 
alone  to  Shawmut  avenue,  and  to  the  house  of  Mrs. 
Bright. 

It  was  a  clear,  cold  evening  late  in  November. 
Newly-fallen  snow  lined  the  curbs  and  filled  the  lit- 
tle gardens  in  front  of  the  strangely-alike  houses  of 
brick.  Nothing  but  the  number  on  the  door  showed 
which  building  was  the  one  in  which  he  was  to 
lodge.  As  he  approached  it  he  glanced  up  at  the 
third  floor,  where  the  Fullers  lived,  and  saw  that  no 
light  was  visible.  Lettie  was  undoubtedly  a-bed, 
and  her  father,  unless  something  especially  important 
had  happened,  was  also  in  dreamland.  Looking  at 
his  watch  Frank  saw  that  it  was  midnight.  At  the 
same  moment  the  church  clocks  in  the  vicinity  began 
to  peal  forth  their  slow  strokes. 

There  is  something  about  such  a  night — one  when 
the  stars  seem  set  thicker  than  is  their  wont  in  the 
clear  sky  of  winter — combined  with  the  cold,  brac- 
ing air,  that  is  apt  to  affect  a  sensitive  mind.  Frank 
Morley  let  his  gaze  roam  into  space  for  some  min- 
utes before  he  left  the  street,  and  his  thoughts  became 


14:2  AN   ORIGINAL    SINNEK. 

too  profound  for  utterance.  Then  he  glanced  at  the 
pure  carpet  recently  spread  and  remembered  the 
line  : 

"  Once  I  was  pure  as  the  snow." 


he  repeated  bitterly.  "Once!  And  now 
I  am  as  that  snow  will  be  to-morrow,  black  with  the 
soot  of  the  city,  mixed  with  the  slime  of  the  street. 
Ah,  well  !  it  is  my  destiny." 

He  took  out  his  latch-key  and  entered  the  house. 
A  dim  light  was  burning  for  him  —  he  knew  no  one 
else  was  out  at  that  hour  —  and  at  the  stairway  he 
reached  up  and  extinguished  it.  Feeling  his  way 
by  the  balustrade  he  ascended  to  his  chamber,  the 
door  of  which  was  slightly  ajar.  Then  he  lit  a  match 
and  illumined  the  familiar  room. 

"  Once,"  he  said  again,  to  himself.  "'  Once  I  was 
pure  as  the  snow.'  Bah  !  What  devilish  nonsense 
that  doggerel  is.  As  if  anyone  could  keep  pure  in 
this  dirty  world  !" 

He  took  off  his  coat  and  hung  it  on  a  hook  and 
proceeded  to  untie  his  shoes.  As-  he  stooped  over 
his  ear  detected  a  slight  rustle  in  the  hallway  and  he 
remembered  that  he  had  not  shut  the  chamber  door 
closely.  Rising  to  remedy  the  oversight  he  caught 
a  glimpse  of  petticoats  ;  and,  throwing  wide  the 
portals,  he  stood  face  to  face  with  the  niece  of  his 
landlady. 

"  Bessie  !"  he  exclaimed,  in  a  sharp  whisper. 
"You  up  !  Come  in  here.  I  want  to  see  you." 

It  was  indeed  Bessie,  who  had  sat  up  late  in  tha 
hope  to  see  him,  and  had  fallen  asleep  at  last  in  the 
parlor,  to  be  awakened  by  his  entrance.  She  was 
creeping  up  stairs  carefully,  for  she  did  not  like  to 


MIDNIGHT   AND  BESSIE.  14:3 

have  him  know  she  had  waited  so  late.  She  came 
back  now,  timidly,  toward  his  door. 

"  I  will  see  you  in  the  morning,"  she  replied  to  his 
invitation.  "It  is  very  late  and  everyone  in  the 
house  has  retired." 

"Come  here  !"  he  said,  authoritatively.  "Who 
taught  you  to  argue,  young  woman  ?  I  have  been 
gone  ten  weeks  and  deserve  a  better  welcome." 

She  approached  nearer,  so  that  whatever  she  said 
might  be  safe  from  being  overheard,  and  he  put  an 
arm  around  her  waist  and  gently  but  firmly  drew 
her  into  his  room. 

"  Hush  !"  he  said,  as  she  began  to  protest.  "  1 
only  want  a  word.  Look  me  in  the  face."  She  was 
hiding  her  blushes  under  one  raised  arm.  "  Are 
you  glad  to  see  me  ?  Here,  take  that  hand  down. 
I  want  to  look  into  your  eyes." 

He  took  the  hand  down  himself,  and  kissed  the 
cheek  it  had  hidden.  Poor  Bessie,  struggling  be- 
tween her  sense  of  the  proprieties  and  her  inclina- 
tions, was  quite  at  the  mercy  of  this  so  much  wiser 
man. 

"  What  are  you  afraid  of  ?"  he  went  on.  "  If  any 
one  should  come — which  they  won't — the  door  is 
open,  and  I'm  not  going  to  close  it.  I  only  want  to 
know  if  there  is  one  friend  left  to  me  in  Boston. 
And  your  poor  arm,  too  !  Still  lame  and  carried  in 
a  sling.  Why  wasn't  I  in  the  place  of  that  lucky 
brother  of  mine  ?" 

He  had  released  her  and  she  felt  a  little  more  at 
ease. 

"You  have  not  heard  it  right,"  she  said.  "Your 
brother  paid  all  his  attentions  to  Lettie.  It  was  Mr. 


144  AN   ORIGINAL  SINNER. 

Melton  who  carried  me  to  the  doctor's  office  and 
helped  do  up  my  arm." 

He  was  all  smiles  and  seemed  quite  happy. 

"  So  it  was,"  said  he.  "  Clyde  always  had  bad 
taste.  He  should  have  seen  your  beacon-light  " — 
here  he  stroked  her  auburn  hair  humorously — 
"  before  anything  else.  I  wish  I'd  been  there.  Well, 
there  is  no  denying  that  it  is  late,  and  after  one  more 
kiss  I  must  let  you  go." 

He  wasn't  so  bad,  this  fellow,  as  Clyde  had  repre- 
sented him,  Bessie  thought.  He  had  never  said  a 
word  to  her  that  could  be  construed  as  improper, 
and  even  now,  at  this  remarkable  hour,  he  proposed 
to  her  to  go  before  she  said  the  word.  She  began 
to  wish  he  had  not  said  it  quite  so  soon,  for  she 
liked  being  there  with  him,  after  such  a  long  separa- 
tion. He  was  more  affectionate,  too,  than  he  had 
been  for  a  long  time  before  he  went  away.  Perhaps 
if  he  had  a  good  opportunity  he  might  say  some- 
thing of  the  future, — that  he  had  altered  his  views  on 
matrimony,  for  instance.  She  was  thinking  of  these 
things  when  he  put  his  arms  around  her  again  and 
sought  her  ripe  lips,  and  in  the  preoccupation  of  her 
mind  he  had  his  own  way  with  them. 

"  Is  there  another  such  mouth  in  the  world  ?'*  he 
asked,  lifting  his  eyes  to  hers.  "  Bessie,  how  beau- 
tiful you  are  !" 

Surely  he  was  about  to  speak  !  Nothing  else 
could  warrant  such  words,  uttered  with  such  fervor. 
He  kissed  her  again,  ravenously  and  pressed  her 
closer  to  his  breast.  In  his  eagerness  he  forgot  the 
injury  she  had  sustained  and  the  wounded  arm 
received  a  wrench  that  made  her  utter  a  cry  of  pain. 


MIDNIGHT   AND   BESSIE.  145 

"  My  God  !  How  thoughtless  I  am  !"  he  whispered, 
releasing  her. 

The  excitement  of  seeing  him  had  left  her  poorly 
prepared  for  the  pain  the  arm  now  gave  her,  and  to 
Frank's  consternation  she  began  to  sway.  In  another 
moment  she  lay  a  dead  weight  in  his  arms  and 
would  have  sunk  to  the  carpet  had  he  not  placed  her 
upon  a  sofa. 

"  Fainted,  by  all  that's  unlucky  !"  he  exclaimed. 
"  If  any  one  should  come  now  !" 

He  quickly  applied  restoratives  and  soon  had  the 
satisfaction  of  seeing  her  eyes  open.  As  she  realized 
where  she  was  and  what  had  happened  she  began  to 
sob,  and  from  sheer  necessity  he  went  and  closed  the 
door  tightly. 

"  My  darling  !"  he  whispered  to  her,  kneeling  by 
her  side.  "  There  is  no  reason  why  you  should 
weep.  You  fainted  and  now  you  are  restored,  that 
is  all.  In  another  minute  you  will  be  able  to  go  to 
your  room,  and  sleep  will  set  you  right.  Did  I  hurt 
the  poor  arm  ?  I  am  so  sorry." 

He  kissed  the  tears  from  her  face  and  soon  they 
ceased  to  fall. 

"Are  you  in  much  pain  ?"  he  asked. 

"  No,"  she  said,  shaking  her  head.  "But  this  is 
dreadful.  I  ought  not  to  have  come  in  here  at  all. 
If  anyone  should  ever  know  it,  what  would  they  say  ?" 

He  brushed  away  the  last  tear  he  could  find  on 
her  cheek. 

"If?  That's  a  big  word,  Bessie.  How  are  they 
to  know  ?  Shall  you  tell  them  ?  I  assure  you  / 
sha'n't.  There's  nothing  wrong  about  it.  Are  you 
able  to  go  now  ?" 


146  AN   ORIGINAL    SINNER. 

She  sat  up,  with  his  help,  but  she  was  still  a  little 
dizzy. 

"  I  wish  I  could  go  as  far  with  you  as  your  room," 
said  he,  "but  that's  impossible.  I  suppose  you've 
two  flights  yet  to  climb.  Get  well  rested  before 
you  start.  Disabuse  your  mind  of  fear.  Nobody 
ever  wakes  up  in  this  house  between  twelve  and  six 
at  night.  It  would  be  a  paradise  for  burglars,  only 
there's  never  anything  to  steal.  If  it  wasn't  for  the 
danger  of  wagging  tongues  you  should  sleep  where 
you  are  till  daylight  and  I  would  sit  and  guard  you." 

"  Oh,  no  !"  The  girl's  strength  came  back  to  her 
at  the  bare  thought  of  what  he  suggested.  "  I  am 
feeling  better.  Good-night,  Mr. — Frank." 

He  kissed  her  hair  gently  as  they  parted.  Then 
he  closed  the  door  behind  her  and  shut  his  teeth 
together. 

"  Will  you  do  me  the  kindness  to  observe,  Clyde 
Morley,"  he  said,  aloud,  "  that  the  devil  is  not  as  black 
as  you  have  taken  the  pains  to  paint  him  !" 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

A    GAME    OF    HEARTS. 

Mr.  Frank  Morley  did  not  spend  much  of  his  time 
that  winter  in  winning  the  affections  of  Bessie 
Bright.  That  was  done  already,  and  too  well  done, 
in  fact.  What  occupied  the  most  of  his  leisure — and 
he  had  a  good  deal  of  leisure — was  the  best  way  to 
get  again  into  the  good  graces  of  Miss  Fuller,  who 
had  treated  him  for  a  lone  time  in  a  distant  and 


A   GAME   OF   HEARTS.  147 

haughty  manner.  It  will  be  remembered  that  Lettie 
had  once  believed  herself  in  love  with  Frank,  and 
had  crushed  down  the  feeling  when  she  thought  hint 
devoted  to  Bessie.  The  Colonel's  daughter  had  no 
experience  to  guide  her  where  men  were  concerned. 
Frank  and  Mark  Melton  were  the  only  men  of  any- 
where near  her  age  with  whom  she  had  ever  come 
into  close  contact. 

Frank  suited  her  much  better  of  the  two  than 
Mark,  and  at  first  she  prepared  to  give  him  that  tor- 
rent of  affection  that  her  heart  had  been  storing  up, 
waiting  for  some  eligible  comer.  Then  jealousy  had 
its  innings,  and  a  feeling  of  pique  at  the  loved  one's 
presuming  to  speak,  not  for  himself,  but  for  the  other 
less  favored  suitor.  Even  when  she  discovered,  later, 
that  Frank  seemed  to  have  no  deep  attachment  for 
Bessie,  she  found  that  the  sentiment  she  had  enter- 
tained toward  him  had  nearly  disappeared.  And 
then  to  make  it  more  apparent  to  her,  came  the  epi- 
sode of  the  accident,  the  appearance  of  the  chivalric 
Clyde,  and  the  new  knowledge  that  this,  and  not  the 
other,  was  the  man  for  whom  she  could  give  up  her 
life. 

It  was  the  burning  desire  of  Frank  Morley  to  win 
again  the  good  opinion,  or  at  least  the  friendship,  of 
Miss  Lettie.  He  regarded  her  as  much  the  more  in- 
teresting of  the  two  girls.  Since  she  was  to  marry 
his  friend  Melton,  it  was  important  that  she  should 
cease  holding  such  a  distant  attitude  toward  himself. 
If  there  were  other  reasons  for  the  interest  that  Mr. 
Morley  took  in  Lettie  they  need  not  be  detailed  here 
at  this  time.  It  is  even  doubtful  if  he  fully  under- 
stood them  in  that  winter  and  spring-time  when  he 
found  them  absorbing  most  of  his  thoughts. 


14:8  AN   ORIGINAL    SINNER. 

After  studying  carefully  the  problem  that  lay 
before  him,  Morley  hit  upon  what  proved  to  be  a 
shrewd  plan.  He  was  still  in  the  habit  of  calling  fre- 
quently on  Col.  Fuller,  and  it  naturally  happened  that 
Lettie  was  generally  there.  She  would  not  have  done 
him  the  honor  to  withdraw  from  the  room  merely 
because  he  was  present,  and  such  an  action  would 
certainly  have  aroused  the  suspicion  of  her  father. 
Frank  found  that  the  Colonel  could  not  say  enough 
in  praise  of  Clyde,  and  he  was  quick  to  notice  that, 
with  all  her  pretence  of  being  deeply  engrossed  in 
novels  or  work,  Lettie  listened  with  suppressed 
eagerness  to  everything  of  which  his  brother  was 
the  subject. 

He  decided  to  speak  in  the  kindest  manner  of 
Clyde  whenever  in  Lettie's  presence,  with  a  tone 
quite  different  from  the  one  he  had  previously  used. 
It  did  not  take  long  to  show  that  he  could  not 
have  hit  upon  anything  more  effective.  Lettie  soon 
ceased  to  treat  him  with  hauteur,  and  even  stopped 
to  exchange  a  word  when  they  met  by  accident  on 
the  stairs  or  in  the  hallway.  He  had  withdrawn  the 
venom  from  her  arrows  before  he  had  tried  his 
method  a  fortnight. 

But  with  the  new  feeling  of  friendliness  that  Lettie 
re-conceived  for  the  brother  of  the  man  she  loved, 
there  came  to  her  also  a  recollection  of  what  she  had 
promised  Clyde,  in  relation  to  Bessie.  She  had  tried 
in  vain  to  bring  herself  to  say  something  to  that 
young  lady,  as  a  note  of  warning.  Bessie  had  often 
alluded  to  Frank,  since  his  return,  in  such  a  warm- 
hearted manner  that  it  seemed  mere  cruelty  to  begin 
a  word  in  his  dispraise.  Lettie  had  no  great  stock  of 
moral  courage.  Her  father's  rule  had  been  so  long 


A    GAME   OF   HEARTS.  149 

her  only  guide, that  she  had  had  no  opportunity  to  de- 
velop those  independent  traits  of  thinking  that  grow 
with  the  physical  growth  of  most  girls.  She  had 
never  given  a  person  advice  as  to  their  conduct,  and 
would  have  found  it  about  as  easy  to  prescribe  for 
the  measles  or  the  whooping-cough,  as  to  tell  her 
girl  companion  what  she  should  or  should  not 
do. 

She  had  discovered,  to  her  surprise,  that  Clyde 
Morley  could  say  things  to  her  without  shocking  her 
moral  sense — without  surprising  it,  rather — that  she 
would  have  blushed  like  fire  to  have  heard  a  woman 
repeat. 

It  came  to  her  one  day,  when  she  had  been  talking 
with  Frank,  that  she  could  say  to  him  what  she 
could  not  say  to  Bessie.  She  made  up  her  mind 
that  she  would  try  to  sound  him  the  next  time  she 
had  a  good  chance,  and  the  chance  came  much 
sooner  than  she  expected.  The  very  next  evening 
he  rapped  at  her  door  to  inquire  if  the  Colonel  was 
in  (having  seen  him  leave  the  house  not  fifteen 
minutes  earlier,  and  go  in  the  direction  of  his  club). 
Thinking  that  this  would  be  a  good  time  to  break 
the  spell,  Lettie  said  her  father  was  out,  but  he  could 
come  in  and  wait,  it  he  liked.  Frank  accepted  with 
pleasure,  and  the  girl  was  soon  listening  to  expres- 
sions carefully  selected  to  suit  the  temper  of  her 
mind,  as  he  has  learned  to  know  it. 

"I  heard  from  Clyde  to-day,"  he  said,  when  some- 
thing brought  up  the  name  of  his  brother.  "We 
don't  correspond  a  great  deal,  but  it  is  because  there 
isn't  much  for  us  to  say.  He's  in  New  York,  doing 
nothing  in  particular,  so  far  as  I  know.  Really,  I 
wonder  what  will  become  of  him.  He  thinks  he  isn't 


150  AN   ORIGINAL   SINNEB. 

good  enough  to  enter  the  ministry,  though  he  has 
studied  enough  to  pass  the  examinations  any  time  he 
wishes." 

"  He  has  very  high  ideals,"  remarked  Lettie. 

Frank  admitted  this  with  a  sort  of  hopeless  sigh. 

"  Almost  too  high,  I  fear,  for  such  a  world  as  we 
live  in.  Clyde  never  does  a  wrong  thing,  of  course. 
But  he  always  fears  he  will.  He  is  subject,  he  says, 
to  temptations,  as  if  every  human  being  wasn't!  If 
all  the  clergymen  were  to  adopt  his  guage,  I  am 
afraid  there  would  be  some  empty  pulpits." 

Lettie  thought  it  a  good  time  to  put  in  a  little 
preaching. 

"  It  is  a  good  guage,  though,"  she  said.  "  All  of 
us  can't  be  perfect,  but  we  ought  to  try,  oughtn't 
we  ?" 

He  meant  to  give  her  the  impression  that  she  had 
convinced  him,  and  so  he  hesitated  before  agreeing 
to  this  very  evident  proposition. 

"  M — m,  yes,  I  suppose  so,"  he  said. 

"  There  can  be  no  doubt  about  it,"  she  answered, 
with  an  air  of  great  wisdom.  "  The  first  question  to 
be  asked  when  one  proposes  to  do  anything  is,  '  Is  it 
right  ?'  If  it  isn't,  that  ought  to  be  the  end  of  the 
matter." 

"  The  devil  !"  thought  Frank.  "  Clyde  has  done 
his  work  well  in  the  little  time  he  had  !  I  think  she 
is  quoting  literally  one  of  his  aphorisms." 

He  assumed  an  attitude  of  deep  humility  that 
encouraged  her  to  become  more  personal  in  her 
allusions. 

"  There  are  certain  things,"  pursued  the  girl, 
«'  that  may  not  seem  wrong  in  themselves,  but  yet 
are  calculated  to  cause  suffering  to  others.  For 


A   GAME   OF   HEARTS.  151 

instance,  if  a  man  were  to  lead  a  girl  to  think  he 
cared  more  for  her  than  he  does,  and  after  her  affec- 
tions are  fixed  continued  to  trifle  with  them,  that 
would  be  a  very  serious  matter  to  her,  and  might 
cause  her  much  misery." 

Frank  listened  astonished.  Clyde  might  have 
said  this.  It  would  have  sounded  natural,  coming 
from  his  lips  ;  but  from  the  mouth  of  this  recluse  of 
a  girl !  Had  she  learned  to  repeat  things  like  a 
parrot,  without  comprehending  their  full  meaning? 
It  must  have  been  Clyde  who  taught  her.  Nothing 
like  it  could  be  found  between  the  pages  of  the 
novels  with  yellow  covers,  he  was  certain,  and  what 
else  had  she  except  the  combined  wisdom  of  the 
novels  and  Clyde  ?  He  resolved  to  meet  her  more 
than  half  way,  however,  and  he  answered  without 
looking  at  her  : 

"  You  mean  Bessie  ?" 

It  disconcerted  her  a  little  to  have  him  put  it  so 
abruptly,  but  he  continued  in  an  apparently  open 
way  that  immediately  reassured  her. 

"  Mark  said  something  to  me  about  that  a  long 
time  ago.  It  seems  ridiculous,  you  know,  that  such 
should  be  the  case,  but  as  things  are  as  they  are, 
why,  it  can't  be  helped.  I  found  Bessie  a  pretty, 
sweet,  nice-tempered  girl,  and  I  liked  her.  Such  a 
thing  as  they  call  love — the  real  sort,  with  Marriage 
with  a  capital  .M  at  the  end  of  it — never  entered  my 
head.  I  didn't  dream  that  a  man  must  have  such 
intentions  toward  every  young  woman  he  happened 
to  enjoy  talking  with  an  hour.  But  Mark  says  it's 
so,  and  Clyde  has  given  me  a  few  lectures,  too,  in 
his  uncompromising  way,  aud  now  you  have  joined 
the  procession.  So  I  suppose,"  he  added,  laughing 


152  AN   ORIGINAL   SINNER. 

good-naturedly,  "  you  must  all  understand  it  a  great 
deal  better  than  I  do." 

Lettie  could  not  help  being  affected  by  his  sim- 
plicity, and  flattered  that  he  deferred  so  much  to  her 
opinion,  and  she  smiled  also,  a  very  encouraging  sign. 

"  Bessie  if  too  sensible  a  girl,"  he  went  on,  "  to  be 
in  danger  of  losing  her  heart  or  her  reason  over  any 
man  alive.  After  an  absence  of  ten  or  eleven  weeks 
I  find  her  just  as  lovable  as  ever  and  just  as  wise. 
If  she  has  pined  on  my  account  her  dressmaker  has 
been  quite  able  to  conceal  the  effects.  Had  the 
case  been  otherwise  I  might  well  have  reproached 
myself,  not  for  my  intended  injury  to  her,  but  for 
the  lack  of  knowledge  which  I  had  manifested. 
Hereafter,  Miss  Fuller,  rest  assured  that  I  shall  con- 
fine my  attentions  either  to  members  of  my  own  sex 
or  to  mature  ladies  who  cannot  possibly  mistake  a 
pleasant  word  or  bow  for  the  prelude  to  a  declara- 
tion." 

Miss  Fuller  warmly  indorsed  this  decision,  but 
took  occasion  to  ask  why  a  young  man  like  him 
should  have  conceived  such  a  positive  aversion  to 
matrimony. 

"Oh,  I  should  make  a  great  failure  at  it!"  he 
exclaimed.  "  Knowing  that  so  well,  would  I  not  be 
a  dunce  to  allow  myself  to  bring  lasting  unhappiness 
to  some  unfortunate  sharer  of  my  misery  ?  I  do  not 
dislike  women.  On  the  contrary,  I  admire  them 
exceedingly.  It  is  the  conditions  of  what  we  call 
marriage  that  would  make  it  irksome  to  me  and 
probably  impossible  to  endure." 

"The  conditions  !"  echoed  Lettie. 

"  Yes.  The  necessity  that  two  persons  who  are  born 
with  separate  individualities  must  subordinate  them 


A   GAME   OF   HEARTS.  153 

so  that  they  will  become  one  ;  that  all  their  tastes 
must  be  altered  to  suit  those  of  another  ;  that  he  or 
she  must  learn  to  be,  do,  and  appear  different  from 
what  nature  intended.  You  have  perhaps  seen  in 
the  country  a  yoke  of  oxen,  fastened  together  by  the 
necks  with  a  ponderous  affair  of  wood  and  iron,  com- 
pelled to  draw  a  heavy  load.  That  seems  to  me  a 
perfect  picture  of  matrimony.  The  poor  things 
must  keep  step  over  all  kinds  of  road,  dragging 
'public  opinion*  after  them,  to  the  mutual  discom- 
fort of  their  lives." 

Lettie  was  thinking  of  Clyde.  She  was  thinking 
how  willing  she  would  be  to  bear  the  weight  of  any 
yoke  and  draw  any  load  so  that  he  drew  it  with  her. 

'•  When  marriage  is  made  of  love,"  she  said,  "  may 
not  that  lighten  the  yoke  and  the  load  until  neither 
is  felt  to  be  a  burden  ?" 

"  Oh,  I  suppose  so,"  he  said,  doubtfully,  "  I 
imagine  that  some  of  these  pairs  of  oxen  I  have 
pitied  do  not  know  that  they  arouse  such  a  senti- 
ment in  my  mind,  nor  that  they  should.  But  your 
supposition  does  not  help  me  any,  for  I  am  not  in 
love,  nor  am  I  likely  to  be.  No,"  he  added,  look- 
ing her  full  in  the  face,  for  her  eyes  had  been  resting 
upon  him  for  the  past  minute,  "  I  came  very  near  it 
once,  but  it  can  never  occur  again." 

The  girl  felt  a  little  shiver  run  over  her  frame. 
She  felt  what  he  meant  her  to  feel. 

"  There  was  once  a  girl  whom  I  knew,"  proceeded 
Morley,  with  a  slight  shaking  in  his  voice,  "  who,  if 
any  one,  would  have  aroused  in  me  a  true  sentiment. 
I  had  learned  to  care  more  for  her  than  for  any 
other  I  had  ever  known,  before  I  became  aware  of 
the  depth  of  my  feelings.  But  she  was  promised,  or 


154  AN   ORIGINAL    SINNKII. 

almost  promised — by  her  father — to  the  UH>-L  ii,:i- 
mate  friend  I  had,  a  man  who  loved  her  with  all  his 
soul.  I  may  not  be  the  best  man  in  the  world,  and 
I  am  sure  my  brother  Clyde  would  say  so,  but  from 
the  moment  I  saw  in  what  direction  my  steps  were 
leading  I  turned  them  aside." 

It  was  impossible  not  to  understand  him.  Lettie 
Fuller,  with  her  limited  knowledge  of  men,  never 
dreamed  that  there  was  anything  in  this  statement 
but  the  confession  it  appeared,  wrung  from  him  by 
the  depth  of  his  feelings.  She  pitied  him  extremely, 
and  thought  how  harshly  she  had  judged  him  in  her 
ignorance. 

"  You  should  not  have  told  me  this,"  she  whispered, 
sadly.  "  But  as  long  as  you  have  done  so,  may  I  not 
also  confide  something  to  you  ?  I  never  shall  marry 
Mr.  Melton.  If  he  entertains  a  contrary  belief,  the 
sooner  he  ceases  to  hold  it  the  better.  I  know  he 
has  spoken  to  my  father.  I  know  that  my  father  has 
given  him  an  intimation  that  in  a  few  years  I  may 
give  a  favorable  answer.  It  is  quite  wrong.  I  re- 
spect him,  but  I  do  not  love  him,  and  I  never  shall 
do  so.  As  he  has  not  said  anything  to  me  directly 
on  this  subject,  it  may  be  over-hasty  to  tell  these 
things,  but  I  count  on  your  reticence.  I  feel  that  I 
have  no  right  to  permit  any  one  to  think  I  can  take 
a  course  that  I  know  is  impossible." 

He  tried  to  interrupt  her  several  times  while  she 
was  speaking,  but  she  waved  him  to  silence  with  her 
hand.  When  she  finished  he  expressed  surprise, 
saying  he  supposed  the  matter  as  good  as  settled. 
He  went  further  and  alluded  to  the  obedience  she  had 
always  shown  her  father,  which  he  thought  would 
affect  her  in  all  matters,  but  she  answered  that  it  was 


A   GAME   OF   HEARTS.  155 

a  woman's  duty  even  to  disobey  her  parents  rather 
than  marry  a  man  for  whom  she  could  not  care. 

"  Papa  is  not  used  to  having  me  question  his  com- 
mands," she  continued,  "  and  he  may  bring  a  strong 
pressure  to  bear  upon  me,  but  I  shall  be  firm." 

He  seemed  unable  to  comprehend  the  situation, 
and  botli  sat  for  some  time  without  speaking. 

"  It  will  not  do  to  tell  Mark  at  present,"  he  said  at 
last.  "  He  would  lose  his  diploma,  and  perhaps  go 
to  the  dickens.  He  is  terribly  set  on  marrying  you. 
Why,  you  can't  imagine  the  amount  of  talk  he  has 
made  to  me  about  it.  I  am  kis  only  close  friend, 
you  see,  and  he  tells  me  everything.  He  has  planned 
his  whole  life  with  you  as  the  central  figure.  He  is 
going  to  be  successful,  because  his  success  will  bene- 
fit you.  He  is  going  to  become  famous,  because  you 
will  enjoy  his  fame.  Withdraw  his  hope  suddenly, 
at  this  time,  and  I  am  not  sure  but  it  would  ruin 
him." 

Miss  Fuller  said  she  was  very  sorry,  and  she 
spoke  the  truth.  She  added  that  of  course  she 
could  say  nothing  to  Mark  until  he  spoke  to  her, 
which  she  knew  he  had  promised  the  Colonel  not  to 
do  for  a  long  time.  But  before  he  reached  the  time 
when  he  felt  warranted  in  addressing  her,  she  hoped 
some  means  would  be  taken  to  undeceive  him.  She 
felt  a  sort  of  guilt  in  this  tacit  permission  to  expect 
a  different  result,  though  she  had  no  hand  in  it. 

"  You  lead  me  to  bring  against  you  the  charge  you 
brought  against  me,"  said  Frank,  reproachfully. 
"How  can  you  wonder  that  /do  not  wish  to  marry, 
when  you  object  to  it  so  strongly.  But,  perhaps,"  he 
cried,  suddenly,  "perhaps  your  reason  is  the  same — 
that  you  have  loved,  still  love,  another  !" 


156  AN   ORIGINAL   SINNER. 

How  had  he  penetrated  the  inmost  recesses  of  her 
heart  and  dragged  that  fact  to  light  !  Her  trepida- 
tion assured  him  he  had  struck  the  right  trail. 

"It  is  true  !"  he  exclaimed.  "And  I  need  not  look 
far,  either,  to  find  the  person  who  has  won  you  ! 
Had  I  not  cause  enough  to  hate  him  without  this 
new  reason  ?" 

He  had  raised  his  voice  so  loud  that  Lettie  feared 
it  would  be  heard  beyond  the  walls  of  the  apart- 
ment, and  she  raised  both  hands  deprecatingly. 

He  seemed  to  realize  the  danger,  for  he  spoke  in 
lower  tones. 

"Saint  as  he  is  and  sinner  as  I  am,  we  are  both 
made  of  flesh  and  blood!  He  has  found  time,  has 
he,  between  his  prayers,  to  speak  of  human  things 
into  a  human  ear,  and  that  a  woman's  ?  Well,  you 
have  put  some  confidence  in  me,  give  me  a  little  more. 
Are  you  going  to  marry  him  ?" 

The  girl  paled  at  the  question. 

"  Come  !"  he  said,  almost  roughly.     "  Answer." 

"You  go  on  so  fast,  I  can  hardly  follow  you,"  she 
gasped.  "He  has  never  asked  me  to  marry  him,  has 
never  said  anything  ever  remotely  approaching  such 
a  thing." 

He  devoured  her  with  half-shut  eyes. 

"  How,  then,  do  you  know  he  loves  you  ?" 

Her  confusion  increased  visibly. 

"Oh,  Mr.  Morley,"  she  gasped,  "be  generous  and 
say  no  more.  I  do  not  know  that  he  loves  me  !'* 

"  But  you  love  him!" 

She  covered  her  burning  face  with  her  hands. 

"Oh,  you  need  not  be  ashamed  of  it !"  he  replied, 
swallowing  something  that  had  stuck  in  his  throat. 
"  Hearts  are  about  the  same,  I  imagine,  whether 


A   GAME   OP   HEARTS.  157 

they  beat  in  a  masculine  breast  or  a  feminine  one. 
Well,  listen  to  me,  Miss  Lettie.  You  have  been 
taught  to  think  of  me  as  lacking  in  the  cardinal 
virtues.  I  will  show  you  that  I  have  at  least  one 
decent  quality.  In  every  way  that  lies  in  my  power  I 
will  help  you,  yes,  even  at  the  cost  of  disloyalty  to 
Mark  Melton.  I  do  not  know  that  Clyde  will  ever 
marry,  for  he  is  fanatical  to  a  degree  on  the  subject 
of  religion,  and  may  think  his  whole  life  should  be 
devoted  to  that,  but  you  may  count  on  me  at  all 
times  as  your  friend." 

Grateful  at  this  unexpected  kindness,  and  at  the 
same  time  overcome  with  mortification  at  the  atti- 
tude in  which  she  was  placed,  Lettie  suffered  him  to 
take  her  hands  from  her  face  and  impress  a  tender 
kiss  upon  one  of  them. 

"  I  will  never  harbor  an  evil  thought  of  you  again," 
she  stammered.  "You  are  so  good  !" 

"  No,  no,  no  !"  he  answered,  shaking  his  head. 
"  This  is  only  a  spasmodic  attack  which  may  never 
recur.  But  I  will  keep  my  promise.  I  will  write 
to  him  oftener  and  always  speak  of  you.  I  will  go 
to  see  him,  if  he  does  not  come  here,  and  I  shall 
know  what  to  say." 

An  innate  consciousness  that  there  was  something 
unmaidenly  in  this  came  into  her  head,  but  she  did 
not  know  how  to  escape  the  arrangement,  which  she 
certainly  thought  very  noble  on  Frank's  part. 

"  A  sister-in-law  ?"  mused  Morley,  an  hour  later, 
in  the  solitude  of  his  room.  "  I  am  not  sure  but 
that  is  the  best  thing  of  the  two." 


158  AN    ORIGINAL   SINNER. 


CHAPTER   XV. 
"IF  WE'RE  NOT  FOUND  OUT." 

That  spring  in  Boston  was  much  like  other 
springs.  The  frosts  disappeared,  the  keen  March 
winds  blew  up  the  Bay,  the  April  showers  brought 
out  the  green  leaves  on  the  trees  and  May  opened  the 
buds  of  the  earliest  flowers.  The  characters  in  our 
story  all  remained  in  the  city.  Col.  Fuller  pursued 
unaltered  the  course  of  life  he  had  so  long  indulged 
in,  rarely  going  far  out  of  the  beaten  path  that  lay 
between  his  rooms  and  Veteran  Club.  Lettie  read 
her  novels,  visited  the  shops  where  women's  apparel 
was  sold,  talked  with  Bessie  or  with  Frank  Morley, 
and  Went  to  bed  punctually  as  the  clock  struck  ten 
with  visions  in  her  head  of  a  divinity  student  who 
had  never  returned.  Bessie  aided  her  aunt  about 
the  housework  as  of  yore,  her  arm  entirely  well,  and 
listened  for  the  only  footsteps  that  had  any  charm 
for  her,  the  footsteps  of  a  certain  student  of  law 
who  lodged  in  the  house.  Mark  Melton  studied 
with  all  his  might,  determined  that  it  should  not  be 
his  fault  if  he  did  not  graduate  with  honors,  for  the 
diploma  meant  a  great  step  toward  accomplishing 
the  desire  of  his  heart.  And  Frank  went  from  the 
house  to  Court  street  studying  not  less  the  themes 
he  found  on  Shawmut  avenue  than  those  presented  to 
him  in  the  musty  books  over  which  he  had  to  pore. 

The  interest  he  now  seemed  to  take  in  Lettie's 
wishes  made  him  a  welcome  visitor  to  her.  It  was 


"  IF  WE'RE  NOT  FOUND  OUT."  159 

common  for  him  to  watch  till  the  Colonel  disap- 
peared for  the  afternoon  or  evening  and  then  go 
stealthily  to  her  room,  to  pass  an  hour  or  two  in  her 
company.  Lettie  had  ceased  to  be  the  guileless  girl 
he  had  once  known.  She  knew  his  inquiries  for  her 
father  were  fictitious,  for  he  came  too  frequently  just 
after  his  departure  to  allow  of  the  supposition 
that  each  occurrence  of  the  kind  was  an  accident. 
Finally,  they  used  to  laugh  together  when  he  made 
the  inquiry,  as  she  opened  the  door.  Once,  when  he 
made  a  mistake,  thinking  the  Colonel  had  gone  out, 
and  found  him  in,  he  asked  for  a  book  he  had  seen 
in  the  library,  excused  himself  from  remaining,  and 
half  an  hour  later,  when  ocular  demonstration 
assured  him  that  the  coast  was  clear,  he  returned  to 
secure  the  real  object  of  his  first  visit,  an  unin- 
terrupted chat  with  the  daughter. 

Lettie  was  becoming  a  past  mistress  of  the  art  of 
double  dealing.  Still  assuming  the  same  demure- 
ness  when  her  father  was  present,  acting  like  the  lit- 
tle girl  he  had  always  known,  she  had  become  quite 
a  different  creature.  It  would  have  startled  the  old 
war-horse  considerably  had  he  been  able  to  open  a 
window  of  her  brain  and  see  what  went  on  there. 

Bessie  knew  of  very  few  of  these  visits.  She  gen- 
erally thought  Frank  out  of  the  house  when  they 
occurred.  Col.  Fuller's  habits  were  so  absolutely 
clock-like  that  he  could  be  depended  upon  not  to 
come  home  before  a  certain  hour.  Bessie,  on  the 
contrary,  was  liable  to  come  in  at  any  moment,  as 
she  and  Lettie  used  little  ceremony  with  each  other. 
However,  she  always  knocked,  which  gave  time  for 
a  slight  preparation,  and  after  she  had  surprised 
them  once,  Lettie  made  a  proposition.  In  case  she 


160  AX   ORIGINAL   SINNER. 

should  come  up  again,  Frank  was  to  retire  into  her 
chamber,  till  she  could  arrange  some  excuse  to  get 
rid  of  the  unwelcome  visitor. 

Frank  raised  no  objection  to  this,  though,  to  tell 
the  truth,  it  more  than  astonished  him.  He  could 
not  understand  the  peculiar  quality  of  mind  that 
Miss  Fuller  had  developed  under  her  unusual  train- 
ing. With  a  father  content  to  command,  and  with 
no  mother  to  advise  or  direct  her,  Lettie  had  thrown 
down  nearly  every  barrier  that  women  ordinarily 
erect  about  themselves  when  educated  in  the  usages 
of  refined  society.  Her  bedroom  was  pretty  and 
well-kept,  and  she  never  dreamed  of  there  being  any- 
thing improper  in  telling  a  young  man  to  secrete  him- 
self there  in  such  an  emergency. 

Much  of  their  talk  was  of  Clyde,  and  it  was  never 
pleasant  to  contemplate  its  interruption.  Bessie 
would  think  it  strange  if  she  found  Frank  there 
often,  and  it  was  just  as  well  that  she  should  not,  as 
it  might  lead  her  to  asking  questions  that  no  one 
would  care  to  answer. 

The  first  time  Frank  retreated  into  the  bedroom 
he  had  to  remain  there  some  time,  as  Bessie  would 
not  understand  the  vague  hints  that  Lettie  threw 
out.  He  did  not  mind  it,  however,  in  the  least.  In 
fact,  he  was  rather  interested  in  his  prison-house. 
Feeling  secure  from  interruption  as  long  as  he  could 
hear  the  girls*  voices,  he  made  quite  a  thorough  exam- 
ination of  the  room.  He  found  that  Lettie  slept  on 
a  brass  bedstead  under  the  snowiest  counterpane  im- 
aginable ;  that  the  pillows  on  which  her  head  was 
laid  were  large  and  soft.  He  pinched  the  mattress 
and  found  it  made  of  hair,  and  experienced  a  pleas- 
ure in  learning  that  it  was  not  of  feathers,  which  he 


"IF  WE'KE  NOT  FOUND  OUT."  161 

considered  unhealthy.  The  dressing-case  was  cov- 
ered with  trophies  of  her  skill  with  the  needle,  but 
no  photographs  were  seen  except  one  of  her  father 
in  his  uniform,  apparently  taken  in  the  days  of  the 
war.  The  counterfeit  presentments  of  numerous 
male  individuals,  so  common  to  young  girls' bureaus 
were  conspicuous  by  their  absence.  Neither  was 
there  a  picture  of  herself,  and  he  began  to  wonder 
if  she  had  never  had  any.  The  chairs  and  the  sofa 
were  in  as  good  taste  as  the  garments  she  was  in  the 
habit  of  wearing.  The  few  pictures  on  the  walls 
were  evidently  the  Colonel's,  being  devoted  to  mil- 
itary subjects. 

It  took  some  time  for  Frank  to  note  all  these 
things.  As  the  talking  in  the  other  room  continued, 
be  opened  a  closet  door,  and  saw  a  great  array  of 
dresses  and  skirts  hanging  from  the  hooks.  Some 
Of  them — the  gowns — he  recognized  as  those  he  had 
Seen  her  wear.  He  put  his  hand  upon  the  silks 
and  worsteds,  and  stroked  them  gently,  as  one 
strokes  the  bad,,  of  a  cat  or  a  favorite  dog.  He 
thought  the  clothes  of  an  attractive  woman  became 
a  part  of  her — acquired  a  tinge  of  her  personality. 
He  had  said  once  that  they  should  no  more  be  sold 
to  strangers  than  an  amputated  arm.  If  they  accum- 
ulated beyond  the  capacity  of  the  receptacles  in- 
tended for  them,  they  should  be  cremated  at  a  solemn 
ceremony. 

He  looked  upon  the  floor  and  saw  dozens  of  boots, 
slippers  and  gaiters,  all  made  to  fit  one  tiny  pair  of 
feet.  A  sentimental  feeling  oppressed  him.  Had 
he  been  certain  he  would  not  be  detected  in  the  act, 
he  would  have  knelt  and  kissed  them,  with  all  the  rev- 
erence that  an  African  pays  to  his  little  wooden  god. 


162  AN   ORIGINAL   SINNEB. 

And  still  he  heard  the  voices.  He  prayed  that 
Bessie  might  prolong  her  call,  for  his  eyes  turned  to 
the  drawers  of  a  bureau,  and  his  fingers  itched  to 
open  them.  Yes,  the  girls  we\j  talking  still.  Ono 
drawer  was  partly  opened,  and  he  drew  it  out  a  little 
farther.  Bottles  with  scents  that  were  familiar, 
brushes  that  had  been  passed  over  her  hair,  combs, 
button-hooks,  gloves  of  many  shades,  handkerchiefs, 
knick-knacks  innumerable.  He  paused  to  wonder 
how  a  girl  brought  up  like  her  had  learned  the  value 
of  these  things.  Was  it  an  instinct  inherent  in  the 
feminine  breast,  this  longing  for  prettiness,  for  deli- 
cate effects  ?  Everything  seemed  arranged  after  a 
definite  method,  so  different  from  the  helter-skelter 
style  of  his  own  dressing-case  on  the  floor  below. 
Frank  Morley  had  run  through  an  exhibition  of 
paintings,  containing  three  hundred  specimens,  in 
half  an  hour.  He  could  have  gazed  on  the  treasures 
of  this  one  drawer  till  night  fell  and  not  have  feasted 
his  eyes  half  enough. 

Still  the  voices.  He  pushed  the  drawer  slowly 
back  and  opened  the  next  one.  White,  white,  white  ! 
Nothing  but  white  !  Did  they  wear  so  many  white 
things,  then  ?  She  must  have  a  heavy  laundry  bill. 
In  the  next  one,  there  were  twenty  kinds  of  hosiery 
to  match  the  shoes.  As  he  took  one  pair  in  his 
hands  to  see  if  they  were  silk,  he  heard  a  door  open 
and  dropped  them  precipitately. 

It  was  not  the  door  of  the  room  he  occupied,  but 
the  outer  door  leading  to  the  hall.  Bessie  was  going 
at  last. 

A  blush  of  conscious  guilt — the  guilt  of  deceit — 
was  on  Lettie's  face,  as  she  came  to  release  him. 
He  sat  there  in  a  rocker,  looking  the  picture  of  con- 


"  IF  WE'RE  NOT  FOUND  OUT."  163 

tent,  when  she  opened  the  door  and  shot  a  quick 
glance  at  him  to  see  what  she  could  read  in  his 
face. 

"  She's  gone  ?"  he  asked,  smiling. 

"  At  last,"  said  Lettie,  drawing  a  long  breath.  "  I 
thought  at  one  time  she  had  sent  for  her  baggage 
and  meant  to  move  in." 

"Why,"  said  Frank,  "it  wasn't  long." 

"  More  than  three-quarters  of  an  hour  !" 

"  By  the  clock  ?" 

She  nodded  three  or  four  times. 

"  I  heard  the  Colonel  say,  the  other  day,  that  clock 
was  fast,"  laughed  Frank,  making  no  move  to  rise. 
"  I  thought  it  had  only  been  five  minutes.  What  a 
bijou  of  a  room  this  is  !" 

Lettie  looked  gratified.  She  still  stood  in  the 
doorway,  with  her  hand  on  the  knob. 

"  Do  you  like  it  ?" 

"  It  is  exquisite  !  It  is  almost  enough  to  make  a 
man  forswear  his  intentions  of  being  a  perpetual 
bachelor,  to  see  such  taste.  Sit  down  and  let  us 
proceed  wherever  we  left  off  when  your  caller  came." 

But  Lettie  said  she  thought  the  parlor  would  be 
the  best  place  to  talk  in,  and  Frank  rose  slowly  to 
follow  her. 

"There  is  only  one  trouble  with  the  parlor,"  said 
he.  "  We  shall  have  to  lower  our  voices  so  that  any 
one  passing  through  the  hall  cannot  hear.  And  that 
gives  me  a  feeling  as  if  we  were  conspirators." 

"  I  know  it,"  she  admitted. 

"But  you  don't  care  ?" 

"  Not  a  bit — if  we're  not  found  out !" 

They  both  laughed  together,  then,  softly;  but  after* 
wards  Frank  grew  sober. 


164 


AN  ORIGINAL   SINNER. 


"  Do  you  know  what  I  thought,  in  that  chamber  ?** 

«'  No." 

She  looked  at  him  inquiringly. 

"  That  all  the  taste  there  displayed  would  go  some 
day  to  adorn  the  home  of  my  brother  !" 

When  he  spoke  in  this  way,  and  it  was  not  the  first 
time  he  had  uttered  similar  sentiments,  she  had  a 
pity  for  him  that  was  too  deep  for  words.  She 
could  not  understand  how  it  was  that  she  had  once 
come  so  near  to  hating  him,  at  that  time  when  he 
urged  the  claims  of  Melton  to  her  hand.  It  was 
mere  loyalty  to  his  friend,  and  she  ought  to  have 
understood  how  little  his  task  was  to  his  taste. 

"  I  don't  see  how  you  can  be  so  sure,"  she  said, 
still  rosy.  "  I  mean  about  him,  about  your  brother. 
He  never  comes  here,  and  as  far  as  I  can  tell  he 
has  nearly  forgotten  me.  He  writes  you  to  give  his 
regards  to  Col.  Fuller  and  daughter,  but  that  is  not 
much  to  build  on.  If  I  could  go  where  he  is — could 
make  some  excuse  for  coming  into  his  life  again — it 
would  be  something.  Here  I  am  as  lost  to  him  as  if 
I  were  in  the  middle  of  Asia." 

Frank  Morley's  eyelids  grew  heavy. 

"  You  are  as  sure  of  him  as  you  are  of  heaven,"  he 
answered.  "  He  has  no  other  woman  in  mind.  He 
believes  in  marriage.  He  gave  you  more  of  his 
attention,  according  to  what  you  tell  me,  than  he 
has  given  to  all  the  girls  he  has  seen  hitherto  put 
together.  He  will  come  back  here  this  summer — I 
will  make  him.  He  will  call  on  you  again  ;  and  then 
everything  lies  in  your  hands." 

She  shook  her  head  doubtfully. 

"  How  ?     How  does  everything  lie  in  my  hands  ?'• 

"  My  God  !"  he  cried.     "  Are  you  so  ignorant  of 


"IF  WE'KE  NOT  FOUND  our."  165 

your  own  powers  ?  You  could  make  any  man  love 
you,  though  hjs  nature  were  of  the  consistency  of 
granite,  and  Clyde  is  as  much  clay  as  I  am.  It  is  his 
constant  fear  that  he  will  be  betrayed  into  giving 
way  to  the  passions  that  beset  him.  Must  I  speak 
more  plainly  ?" 

Lettie  shook  her  head,  but  in  a  different  way. 

"You  have  spoken  almost  too  plainly  now,  but  I 
never  can  win  the  love  of  your  brother  in  that  way. 
I  cannot,  even  if  it  is  the  only  alternative." 

Not  knowing  how  much  he  could  say  with  im- 
punity to  this  strange  girl,  Frank  paused  for  a 
moment. 

"  It  is  a  delicate  matter,"  he  said.  "  Clyde  cannot 
be  won  in  any  ordinary  fashion.  He  is  full  of  odd 
whims,  is  one  mass  of  cross-purposes.  If  he  marries 
at  all,  it  will  be  because  he  thinks  it  his  duty.  For 
instance,  you  remember  his  expressions  relating  to 
Bessie  and  me  ?" 

She  assented. 

"  He  said,  and  he  put  the  same  words  into  your 
mouth,  that  a  man  had  no  right  to  make  a  woman 
love  him  and  then  think  himself  free  from  the  con- 
sequences. He  has  dinned  that  into  my  ears,  time 
and  again,  and  his  letters  teem  with  it.  If  he  returns 
to  Boston — I  should  say  when  he  returns — he  will 
come  to  see  you  as  he  used.  At  the  proper  time  I 
will  hold  up  before  his  eyes  the  sermon  he  has  read 
to  me  and  see  if  he  can  get  behind  his  own  preach- 
ing." 

The  pretty  face  took  on  a  look  of  deep  distress. 
Lettie  did  not  like  the  plan  at  all.  She  wanted 
Clyde  to  come  to  her,  as  men  did  in  the  novels  she  had 
read,  with  a  nice  speech  telling  how  he  bad  'oved  her 


166  AN    ORIGINAL   SINNEB. 

ever  so  long,  and  could  not  be  happy  unless  she 
became  his  wife.  And  she  had  decided  just  how 
she  would  meet  him,  with  eyes  downcast  and  with 
her  voice  adjusted  to  a  delicious  tremble.  And 
when  the  little  word  "  Yes  "  had  been  lisped — and  it 
always  was  lisped  in  every  book  she  had  read — she 
expected  that  the  manly  lips  would  drink  a  draught 
from  hers — the  first  kiss,  except  her  father's,  that  she 
had  ever  had  from  any  man. 

It  was  with  a  feeling  of  joy  and  pride  that  she 
remembered  she  could  say  to  him  with  perfect 
truth,  "Yours  are  the  only  lips,  Clyde,  dear,  that 
ever  touched  mine."  She  had  woven  a  pretty 
romance  that  she  wanted  carried  out  exactly  accord- 
ing to  programme,  and  she  did  not  relish  the  entirely 
different  scheme  which  Frank  had  concocted.  It 
had  one  merit,  perhaps,  however,  that  should  not  be 
lost  sight  of — it  might  succeed  where  hers  could 
fail,  but  she  meant  to  try  hers  first  and  only  adopt 
the  other  in  case  of  dire  emergency. 

"  When  do  you  think  he'll  be  likely  to  come  here  ?" 
she  asked,  demurely. 

"In  the  summer,"  he  answered.  "I  am  going 
away  to  the  hills  for  several  weeks  and  that  would 
be  his  most  likely  time.  He  doesn't  like  me  well 
enough  to  come  when  I'm  here  if  he  can  help  it.  In 
fact,  I  think  it  is  my  presence  in  Boston  that  has 
kept  him  away  so  long." 

She  looked  up  and  laughed  comically. 

"  Oh,  why  couldn't  you  have  gone  away  ?"  she 
said. 

"  I  could,"  he  answered,  with  a  trace  of  bitterness. 
"  But  is  it  not  enough  for  him  that  he  is  to  be  the 
final  victor  ?  Upon  my  life.  Lettie,  I  fear  you  never 


"IP  WE'RE  NOT  FOUND  OUT."  167 

will  be  happy  with  him  !  I  don't  say  this  from  any 
selfish  reason,  but  because  I  honestly  believe  it. 
Suppose  he  should  conclude  that  his  marriage  had 
made  him  the  saint  he  aspires  to  be,  and  should  take 
a  pulpit  somewhere  and  settle  down  as  a  pastor? 
Would  that  life  suit  you  ?"  . 

Her  face  grew  radiant  at  the  suggestion. 

"  Any  life  that  he  thought  best  would  suit  me,"  she 
replied.  "  I  have  learned  in  my  father's  house  to 
find  my  pleasure  in  doing  what  he  wishes,  and  it 
would  be  the  same  with  my  husband." 

He  thought  the  comparison  worthy  of  another. 

"  You  have  learned  to  receive  a  gentleman  caller 
without  your  father's  knowledge,"  said  he,  mean- 
ingly. "  Probably  it  would  not  take  you  long  to  free 
yourself  of  irksome  conditions  if  a  husband  imposed 
them  on  you." 

She  looked  frightened  at  the  thought  he  had  put 
into  her  head. 

"  Ah  !  that  is  different,"  she  exclaimed.  "  I 
should  never  do  the  least  thing  without  my  hus- 
band's consent.  If  he  was  unreasonable,  I  might 
argue  with  him,  but  I  should  obey.  I  cannot  see 
how  a  wife  can  do  otherwise  and  be  safe." 

"  Cases  have  been  known,"  he  suggested,  sarcas- 
tically. 

She  would  not  debate  a  point  on  which  she  felt  so 
positive  a  conviction.  A  glance  at  his  watch  told 
him  it  was  time  to  go,  and  he  rose. 

"Have  patience,"  he  said,  gently,  taking  both  her 
hands  in  his,  "and  your  fairy  god-mother  will  turn 
her  stick  into  a  mate  for  you.  And  now,  if  little 
Bessie  should  see  me  walking  out  of  here,  what  shall 
I  say  ?" 


168  AN   OBIGINAL   SINNEB. 

"You  need  not  tell  her  how  long  you  stayed," 
said  Lettie,  wisely.  "You  and  I  have  a  right  to  our 
secret." 

He  paused  at  the  door,  a  place  it  was  always  hard 
for  him  to  pass. 

"  If  I  understand  you,"  he  said,  "  a  secret  is  all 
right  for  an  unmarried  woman,  but  a  woman  who 
weds  must  have  none." 

"  I  never  shall  if  I  marry,"  she  said,  decidedly. 

He  went  out  thinking  how  willingly  he  would 
wager  all  his  earthly  possessions  that  she  would 
have  plenty  of  them,  in  that  case. 


CHAPTER  XVI. 

MARK  MELTON'S  PROTEST. 

Early  in  the  summer  Clyde  Morley  went  home  to 
his  village  of  Arcadie.  He  had  changed  little  in 
outward  appearance  since  he  left  there,  and  the 
townspeople  pleasantly  lifted  their  hats  to  him  as  they 
had  always  done.  Dr.  Welsh  took  him  in  his  arms 
as  if  he  had  been  his  real  son.  Indeed,  he  was  quite 
the  same  thing  to  him. 

"  You  haven't  been  as  good  a  correspondent  as 
you  once  were,"  he  said  to  the  young  man,  with  mild 
reproach.  "  You  will  have  a  good  deal  to  tell  me  of 
your  travels.  I  only  hope  you  have  decided  to 
settle  down  now.  I  long  to  see  you  fairly  engaged 
on  the  work  of  redeeming  the  world  before  I  pass 
away  from  it," 

Clyde  glanced  at  the  speaker  uneasily. 


MARK  MELTON'S  PROTEST.  169 

"  You  speak  as  if  you  were  ill,"  said  he. 

"  I  am  not  well,"  replied  the  Doctor,  "  and  I  know 
that  my  time  at  the  longest  is  brief.  But  that  does 
not  matter.  I  have  done  what  I  could,  with  the 
limited  powers  God  gave  me.  You  have  much 
superior  talents,  and  if  I  can  leave  you  installed 
in  my  place  I  shall  die  content." 

Clyde  did  not  like  to  tell  the  whole  truth — or  any- 
thing near  it — to  this  good  old  man.  He  had  never 
felt  farther  from  the  ministry  than  now,  but  he  did 
not  have  the  moral  courage  to  own  it  where  he  knew 
it  would  give  so  much  pain.  He  expressed  a  wish 
to  travel  another  season,  as  a  cause  for  postpone- 
ment. When  the  clergyman  argued  against  this,  he 
brought  up  still  other  reasons,  no  more  satisfactory, 
and  heard  them  disposed  of  in  the  same  way.  And 
at  last  he  made  a  partial  breast  of  his  difficulty,  say 
ing  he  was  oppressed  by  his  old  fear  that  he  was 
not  good  enough  to  set  himself  up  as  a  teacher  of 
religion. 

"  I  am  sorry  for  this,"  replied  Dr.  Welsh,  with  an 
expression  of  sadness  on  his  venerable  countenance. 
"  My  advice  to  you  is  to  put  all  such  thoughts 
behind  you,  as  inventions  of  Satan.  Enter  the 
ministry,  take  a  parish  and  go  about  the  work  of  the 
Master,  leaving  the  result  to  him.  The  best  thing 
for  you  to  do,  after  that  is  accomplished,  is  to  find 
some  discreet  woman  of  godly  life  and  conversation 
for  a  helpmate.  With  your  duties  pressing  upon 
you,  and  such  a  wife  by  your  side,  you  would  go 
onward  and  upward  in  your  calling,  and  laugh  at  the 
fears  that  have  held  you  in  bondage." 

Clyde  felt  guilty  as  he  listened.  Why  had  he  ever 
thought  himself  fitted  for  the  pulpit  ?  "A  discreet 


170  AN   ORIGINAL   BINNEB. 

woman  of  godly  life  !"  Not  an  atom  of  his  composi- 
tion reflected  pleasure  at  the  picture.  He  imagined 
some  dowdy  female,  with  long  face  and  badly 
arranged  hair,  marching  solemnly  up  a  church  aisle, 
with  spectacles  across  the  bridge  of  a  severe  nose. 
He  had  never  seen  but  one  girl  who  much  interested 
him — whom  he  would  not  prefer  death  by  the  rope 
to  marrying — and  she  was  not  at  all  like  the  old 
Doctor's  description.  Were  it  not  for  this  ever-pres- 
ent nightmare  of  the  ministry  he  would  have  whis- 
pered words  of  love  in  the  ear  of  that  girl,  and  he 
felt  convinced  it  would  not  have  been  in  vain.  Until 
this  question  was  settled,  he  could  say  nothing  to 
her.  If  he  had  to  give  up  all  that  was  sweet  in  this 
life  to  become  a  better  candidate  for  the  next  world, 
she  would  be  included  in  the  things  sacrificed. 

There  had  been  a  time  when  he  believed  the  satis- 
faction of  well-doing  its  own  sufficient  compensation. 
The  physique  that  had  come  with  growing  manhood 
had  played  the  devil  with  that.  At  the  present 
moment  he  was  neither  one  thing  nor  the  other.  He 
could  not  count  himself  a  follower  of  Good,  and  still 
he  was  too  much  attracted  by  it  to  be  a  contented 
adherent  of  Evil.  This  could  not  go  on  forever. 
He  must  choose  between  the  two  paths.  He  could 
not  do  it  quite  yet,  and  so  he  remained  in  the  midst 
of  the  desert,  as  unhappy  as  might  have  been  ex- 
pected from  his  situation. 

Arcadie  was  duller  than  ever  to  him.  He  went  to 
see  "  his  widows,"  as  he  used  to  call  them,  certain 
poverty-stricken  women  whom  he  had  helped  finan- 
cially in  the  past,  and  whom  he  had  arranged  with 
Dr.  Welsh  to  aid  during  his  absence.  Their  thanks 
grated  on  his  ears.  Their  assurances  that  they  had 


MA.RK  MELTON'S   PROTEST.  171 

never  forgotten  him  in  their  supplications  made  him 
almost  doubt  the  efficacy  of  prayer.  There  were  no 
less  than  ten  of  them  who  had  prayed  for  him, 
according  to  their  own  statements,  twice  each  day. 
Allowing  three  hundred  and  sixty-five  days  to  the 
year,  he  began  a  mental  computation  of  the  number 
of  petitions  sent  upward  in  his  behalf.  The  figures 
were  appalling,  considering  that  he  had  steadily 
grown  worse  instead  of  better  all  the  time. 

"  My  brother  would  say — my  brother  Frank — "  he 
mused,  "  that  this  was  proof  positive  of  the  non- 
existence  of  a  Deity  who  has  the  power  and  the  will 
to  heed  those  who  address  him.  These  old  women 
have  prayed,  and  I  have  prayed,  but  where  are  the 
answers  ?  Supposing  it  should  be  true  that  there  is 
no  God  !  That  would  settle  the  question  of  my  duty 
pretty  effectually.  But,  what  am  I  saying  ?  Why, 
this  is  Atheism  !" 

Atheism  !  A  thought  of  such  a  thing,  and  in 
Arcadie  !  He  wondered  how  such  an  idea  could 
have  entered  his  head  in  that  village.  But  if  it 
were  so — lie  could  not  help  thinking — if  there  was 
no  truth  in  the  things  he  had  been  taught  to  be- 
lieve— if  this  life  was  all — how  pleasant  he  could 
make  it  !  Some  people  said  this  was  so,  and  many 
who  did  not  say  it  acted  as  if  they  believed  it.  Clyde 
thought  the  majority  of  those  he  met  managed  to 
get  a  good  deal  out  of  this  world,  as  they  were  pass- 
ing through.  And  it  seemed  to  him  that  he  got 
nothing — nothing  but  doubt,  and  distress,  and 
temptation. 

When  July  came  he  knew  that  Frank  was  away 
(rom  Boston,  as  were  most  other  people  who  could 
afford  it  in  that  month,  though  many  might  have 


172  AW   ORIGINAL    SINNER. 

been  quite  as  comfortable  had  they  remained  near 
its  invigorating  east  winds  and  taken  their  outings 
on  the  harbor  boats  and  the  suburban  street-car 
lines.  He  wanted  to  see  the  friends  he  had  made 
there,  and  he  wrote  to  Mark  Melton,  saying  that  he 
thought  of  coming.  Mark,  who  had  graduated  from 
his  school,  responded  with  enthusiasm  that  nothing 
would  please  him  better.  He  added,  incidentally, 
that  happening  to  be  at  Col.  Fuller's  after  receiving 
Clyde's  letter,  he  had  mentioned  the  matter  to  them; 
and  that  both  the  Colonel  and  his  daughter  had 
expressed  much  delight  at  the  prospect  of  seeing 
him  again. 

In  a  few  days  Clyde  bade  farewell  to  the  good 
minister  of  Arcadie,  promising  to  think  seriously  of 
the  matter  of  going  into  the  pulpit  that  autumn,  and 
was  met  at  Boston  station  by  Melton,  who  grasped 
his  hands  witli  all  the  warmth  of  his  nature. 

"  I  never  was  so  glad  !"  exclaimed  Mark.  "  Since 
Frank  went  away  I  have  been  dying  for  some  one  to 
talk  with.  There  is  only  one  subject,  you  know,  that 
really  interests  me,  and  that  I  cannot  discuss  except 
with  you  and  him." 

Honest  fellow  !  It  gave  a  twinge  to  the  heart  of 
Clyde  Morley  to  think  of  the  perfect  faith  of  this 
young  man.  Why  had  fate  not  reversed  its  arrange- 
ments, letting  him  be  the  physician  and  Mark  the 
priest  ? 

"And  how  are  our  friends?"  asked  Clyde,  as  the 
pair  strolled  up  Portland  street  together,  disdaining 
the  cars  and  carriages,  in  a  way  they  had. 

"The  Colonel  has  had  a  slight  attack  of  an  old 
trouble  dating  from  the  late  unpleasantness,  but  he 
is  better  now.  There  is  a  bullet  or  two  in  his  body 


MAKK  MELTON'S  PROTEST.  173 

that  they  cannot  remove.  By  all  that's  holy,  I  wish 
I  could  get  them  out  !  It  might  give  him  a  better 
opinion  of  me.  I  think  I'll  propose  it  to  him  !" 

"  But  if  you  made  a  fatality  of  the  case — "  smiled 
Clyde. 

"That's  worth  considering,"  replied  Mark.  "I 
guess  I'd  better  let  him  alone.  He's  around  again 
now,  at  any  rate.  And  Miss  Lettie,  she's  the  same 
as  ever.  Beautiful,  good,  everything  that's  desirable; 
only  there's  no  reason  to  think  she  would  be  any 
more  likely  to  smile  on  a  proposal  of  marriage  from 
me  than  there  was*  a  year  ago." 

Clyde  was  not  very  sorry  to  hear  this.  He  would 
have  been  surprised  to  hear  the  opposite.  He  liked 
Lettie,  and  meant  to  spend  some  of  his  time  in  her 
company  while  in  the  city.  It  was  much  better  that 
she  should  not  be  engaged  to  be  married,  for  that 
would  restrict  the  conversation  a  good  deal.  She 
was  destined  to  belong  to  Melton  some  day — he 
understood  it  was  agreed  on  practically  by  her  father 
— but  there  was  no  need  of  haste  in  making  the 
preliminary  arrangements. 

"You're  an  impatient  fellow,"  was  his  reply. 
"  Here  you  are,  on  the  sure  road  to  preferment  in 
everything  you  seek.  You  have  your  diploma,  you 
are  going  to  put  out  your  shingle,  you  have  only  to 
get  the  paltry  sum  of  ten  thousand  dollars  together, 
and,  presto  !  the  girl  you  love  is  yours  !  And  yet 
you  are  always  lamenting  the  slowness  of  events. 
Do  you  know  you  strike  me  as  a  most  ungrateful 
wretch,  and  I  shall  not  be  surprised  if  fortune  turns 
her  back  on  you  in  sheer  disgust  for  your  sins." 

"  I  try  to  be  patient,"  said  Mark,  "  but  it's  hard 
work.  It  will  be  easier  now  you're  here,  for  you'll 


174  AN   ORIGINAL   SINNER. 

see  her  and  talk  with  her,  and  may  be  able  to  tell 
me  something,  from  time  to  time.  I  go  up  and  play 
cribbage  with  the  Colonel  every  Friday  evening, 
but  I  never  dare  to  allude  to  what  we  said  before. 
Since  his  illness  he's  grown  more  crotchety  than 
ever,  and  the  least  thing  ruffles  his  plumage." 

Mark  went  on  to  say  that  he  had  engaged  an 
office,  and  had  sat  there  patiently  for  four  days  with- 
out seeing  a  customer.  As  it  was  midsummer,  and 
as  he  was  wholly  unknown,  he  did  not  get  discour- 
aged, however.  Doctors  who  now  had  large  incomes 
had  told  him  that  their  early  experience  was  about 
the  same.  One  had  offered  him  a  small  percentage 
to  go  into  partnership,  but  he  preferred  to  try  the 
independent  plan  first. 

Then  they  spoke  of  Frank,  and  Clyde,  who  never 
looked  quite  the  same  when  he  was  on  that  subject, 
asked  how  his  brother  had  been  behaving  himself. 

*'  Why,  like  a  gentlemen,  as  he  always  does," 
laughed  Mark.  "  He  has  studied  law  the  usual 
hours  and  I  have  had  the  benefit  of  a  good  many  of 
his  evenings.  The  most  of  his  w/Vbehavior  is  in  your 
own  vivid  imagination." 

Mark  had  known  Clyde  so  long  now  that  he  spoke 
to  him  with  perfect  freedom.  On  this  subject  he 
felt  that  he  had  a  right  to  be  particularly  blunt,  for 
he  could  not  understand  the  continued  antipathy 
that  Clyde  exhibited. 

"You  feel  certain  it  is  all  right  with  that  young 
lady  at  the  house,  the  landlady's  niece  ?"  inquired 
Clyde,  impressively. 

"Why  shouldn't  it  be?"  demanded  Melton.  "I 
don't  think  they  are  alone  together  three  times  in  a 
month.  I  must  remonstrate  with  you  again,  Mr. 


MARK   MELTONXS     PROTEST.  175 

Morler.  When  you  get  an  idea  into  your  head,  it 
seems  next  to  impossible  to  dislodge  it." 

Clyde  did  not  reply  to  this  raillery.  He  was 
occupied  in  deep  thought. 

"  Does  he  visit  the  Fullers  as  much  as  ever  ?"  he 
asked. 

"Oh,  I  don't  know  how  much.  He  goes  in  to  talk 
with  the  Colonel  of  an  evening  sometimes.  The 
Colonel  likes  him,  too.  I  wish  he  liked  me  half  as 
well.  If  it  wasn't  for  the  fact  that  my  father  and  he 
were  companions-in-arms  I  wouldn't  be  in  it  at  all." 

The  listener  paused  to  digest  this  statement. 

"You  talk  with  Miss  Fuller  sometimes?"  he  said 
next. 

"Oh,  yes." 

"And  not  always  when  her  father  is  present." 

Melton  reddened  a  little. 

"  It  is  seldom  I  get  the  chance,  but  if  he's  out  and 
she  asks  me  to  go  in,  I  don't  refuse." 

"And  on  such  occasions — excuse  the  apparent 
inquisitiveness — what  do  you  talk  about  ?" 

Mark  stopped  a  moment  to  think. 

"I  hardly  know,"  he  said.  "All  kinds  of  things 
that  come  up  at  random,  I  should  say.  Everything 
except  the  subject  I  would  most  prefer." 

"  Sometimes,  perhaps,  of — of  him  /" 

The  hesitation  to  pronounce  the  name  of  his 
brother  nettled  Mark. 

"Of  Frank?"  he  asked.  "Yes,  and  the  last  time 
I  was  there  most  of  our  time  was  taken  up  with  you" 

The  intended  effect  of  this  observation  was  lost  on 
the  divinity  student. 

"  What  did  she  say — of  Frank — of  my  brother  ?" 
he  asked. 


176  AN   ORIGINAL   SINNER. 

"  She  couldn't  say  any  ill  of  him.  What  she  said 
was  in  his  favor." 

"  Are  you  sure  she  could  not  say  any  ill  of  him  ?" 

Melton  protested  vigorously  at  that. 

"  Come,  come  !"  he  cried.  "  Don't  carry  it  too 
far !" 

Clyde  put  his  hand  soothingly  on  the  arm  of  his 
companion. 

"  I  know  him  so  well,"  he  said.  "  I  know  what 
is  in  him,  what  he  is  capable  of.  And  I  tell  you 
Mark,  in  all  sincerity,  if  I  were  in  love  with  a  g»rl 
and  intended  to  marry  her,  she  should  never  be  one 
minute  alone  with  him." 

Melton's  heart  gave  a  bound  and  then  pulsated 
slower  for  some  seconds. 

"It  might  at  least  depend  a  little  on  the  girl,"  he 
ventured,  frigidly. 

"  No,"  was  the  earnest  reply,  "  not  at  all.  She 
could  not  come  into  contact  with  him  and  retain 
all  her  purity.  As  certain  chemicals  destroy  by 
indistinguishable  processes  the  textures  of  fabrics 
brought  into  connection  with  them,  so  such  natures 
as  his  undermine  the  virtue  of  women  without  the 
victims  having  the  least  idea  of  the  disintegrating 
process  that  is  going  on.  Do  you  think  I  like  to  say 
these  things,  that  you  stare  at  me  so  ?  My  God, 
Melton,  he  is  my  brother  !  He  is  the  twin  of  my 
body  !  What  does  that  innocent  girl  know  of  the 
arts  of  a  designing  man  ?  As  much  as  the  little 
bird  of  the  fascinations  of  the  rattlesnake  ;  no  more." 

But  Mark  refused  to  entertain  the  subject  seriously. 
He  was  agitated,  to  be  sure,  but  not  because  he 
thought  there  could  be  anything  in  the  suggestions 
thrown  out.  He  had  long  ago  come  to  regard  the 


MARK  MELTON'S  PROTEST.  177 

attitude  of  Clyde's  mind  as  unnatural  and  morbid, 
when  his  brother  was  concerned.  There  were  two 
people  in  the  world  that  Mark  loved  above  all  others 
— Lettie  Fuller  and  Frank  Morley.  He  believed  he 
knew  at  least  one  of  them,  the  dangerous  on«e,  if 
Clyde  was  to  be  considered  a  judge,  and  he  would 
have  trusted  him  anywhere.  As  he  had  told  Clyde 
long  before,  he  thought  a  man  with  a  depraved  mind 
could  not  go  on  month  after  month  in  the  close  com- 
panionship of  an  intimate  friend  and  not  reveal  what 
was  in  him,  or  at  least  give  some  hint  of  its  existence. 

As  to  Lettie,  the  sentiments  of  a  young  lover  were 
too  strong  to  allow  him  to  think  of  his  sweetheart  as 
a  possible  victim  to  the  machinations  of  any  'one. 
True,  she  was  innocent,  but  she  also  had  common 
sense,  and  it  would  require  more  than  the  sugges- 
tion of  a  chance  acquaintance  to  swerve  her  from  the 
path  of  rectitude.  Beside  this,  she  never  had.  an 
opportunity  to  meet  any  man  alone.  She  was  either 
at  her  home,  where  her  father  kept  a  watchful  eye 
upon  her,  or  if  she  went  out  for  any  length  of  time  it 
was  with  Bessie  or  Mrs.  Bright.  Clyde  might  have 
talked  till  doomsday  for  all  the  effect  it  would  have 
had  on  Mark,  so  certain  was  he  of  the  baselessness 
of  the  insinuations. 

"  If  you  will  do  all  you  can  for  me,  Clyde,"  he  said, 
after  a  long  pause,  in  which  he  had  been  revolving 
these  things  in  his  mind,  "  it  will  not  be  a  great 
while  before  your  bugbears  will  become  as  impossi- 
ble as  they  are  improbable.  I  have  recently  been 
left  a  few  thousand  dollars  by  the  will  of  a  relation, 
and  can  safely  marry  without  danger  of  starvation 
either  for  myself  or  wife.  The  medical  practice  that 
I  expect  will  make  it  unnecessary,  I  hope,  to  draw 


178  AN   ORIGINAL   SINNEE. 

much  on  this  sum,  and  I  intend  to  make  it  larger 
instead  of  smaller  as  fast  as  I  am  able.  My  desire  is 
to  render  myself  independent,  that  I  may  spend  the 
latter  part  of  my  days  in  rest  from  my  profession, 
perhaps  in  foreign  travel.  Col.  Fuller  thinks  a  great 
deal  of  you,  and  a  word  in  my  behalf  will  count  for 
much  with  him.  When  you  meet  the  Colonel,  if  you 
will  let  him  know  this  fact  incidentally,  and  note  its 
effect,  I  will  thank  you.  I  hope  that  his  scruples 
will  be  overcome  when  he  finds  that  the  question  of 
being  fully  able  to  support  his  daughter  is  not  to  be 
considered,  and  that  he  will  allow  me  to  speak  to  her 
very  soon." 

This  was  said  in  a  halting  way  that  showed  how 
deeply  the  matter  affected  the  speaker  and  Clyde 
Morley  had  abundant  time  to  arrange  his  answer. 

"  I  will  speak  to  him,  certainly,"  he  said.  "  Your 
marriage  would  settle  everything,  of  course.  A  girl 
who  is  married  is  safe  ;  everybody  know  that.  Yes, 
if  she  marries  you,  that  will  end  all  danger." 

No  one  not  blindly  infatuated  could  have  heard 
these  ironical  words  without  penetrating  the  satire 
that  lurked  beneath  them.  Mark,  however,  saw 
nothing,  and  was  profuse  in  his  thanks. 

Before  they  parted  Clyde  had  agreed  to  see  the 
Colonel  that  very  evening,  and  to  introduce  the  sub' 
ject,  if  he  could. 


COMPELLING    A    KISS. 

CHAPTER  XVII. 

COMPELLING     A     KISS. 

Half  an  hour  later,  a  pale  figure  stood  in  front  of 
a  mirror  in  a  room  at  the  Parker  House. 

"  Is  this  Clyde  Morley  ?"  it  was  saying.  "  Is  this 
the  man  who  has  existed  for  the  past  year  only  as  a 
protest  against  the  infamies  of  his  brother?  I  had 
better  have  died  than  have  lived  to  carry  in  my  mind 
the  things  that  have  crept  there.  There  was  a  time 
when  these  thoughts  that  now  rack  my  brain  would 
have  been  impossible.  I  have  warned  people  against 
Frank,  but  which  of  us  is  now  the  worse  ?  He  at 
least  does  not  carry  about  with  him  the  garb  of  pro- 
fessed saintliness,  to  blind  the  eyes  of  those  he  would 
betray.  They  may  take  him  for  what  he  is,  a  man 
of  the  world,  without  pretence.  If  he  deceives  them, 
it  is  in  a  measure  the  fault  of  their  indiscretion. 
But  I — talking,  talking,  always  talking  about  the 
sins  of  others — I  am  more  likely  to  prove  the  real 
villain.  Is  there  any  escape,  or  has  the  devil  got  me 
fast  in  his  clutches  ?" 

He  fell  heavily  into  a  chair  and  sat  perfectly  still 
for  several  minutes,  oppressed  by  his  emotions. 

"I  have  none  of  his  excuses — none  but  this  mad 
rush  of  the  senses,  that  I  have  striven  so  long  to 
combat.  He  is  an  atheist.  /  believe  in  an  all-seeing 
and  an  all-requiring  God.  He  looks  upon  life  as  a 
flower  to  be  picked  if  it  meets  his  pleasure,  /regard 
it  as  a  sacred  trust  to  be  accepted  with  reverent 


180  AN   ORIGINAL   SINNER. 

care  and  yielded  up  with  a  full  account,  when  its 
little  day  is  done.  He  could  betray  the  friend  who 
trusts  in  him,  the  woman  who  loves  him,  if  it  suf- 
ficed to  gratify  the  whim  of  the  moment,  and  feel  no 
sting  of  conscience.  If  /  did  either,  the  wrong  would 
haunt  me  to  my  dying  day,  and  curse  the  bed  on 
which  my  soul  took  flight.  And  yet  the  path  he  has 
taken  is  more  than  likely  to  be  mine — the  evil  from 
which  I  have  warned  him  /  may  yet  perpetrate.  I 
must  look  the  possibilities  in  the  face  and  not 
delude  myself  any  longer." 

Again  there  was  a  space  of  silence,  while  the  brain 
of  the  thinker  throbbed  with  the  thoughts  that 
filled  it. 

"  Could  I,  by  going  directly  to  some  distant  part 
of  the  country,  and  taking  up  the  profession  of  the 
ministry,  shield  myself  from  the  damning  tempta- 
tions that  have  grown  to  seem  a  part  of  my  exist- 
ence ?  Is  good  Dr.  Welsh  right  in  telling  me  that 
the  safest  place  for  a  professed  Christian  is  where  he 
can  attend  to  his  Master's  business  ?  In  such  a  field, 
weighted  with  new  and  abundant  cares,  would  that 
girl's  face  keep  its  distance,  or  would  it  continue 
to  come  between  me  and  my  God  ?  Oh,  there  are  so 
many  questions  I  would  like  answered,  and  there  is 
not  one  thing  I  am  sure  of  ! 

"  Let — me — think. 

"  Supposing  I  ask  her  to  marry  me.  I  have  then 
done  a  lasting  wrong  to  Melton,  who  has  trusted  in 
my  honor,  and  who  would  be  right  in  calling  me  a 
traitor  and  a  hypocrite.  It  would  probably  be  the 
breaking  up  of  his  career,  so  deep  is  his  attachment 
to  her.  But  if,  on  the  other  hand,  I  leave  her  to 
him.  I  condemn  her  to  a  life  of  unhappiness,  for  she 


COMPELLING   A   KISS.  181 

never  has  and  she  never  can  love  him  as  a  wife 
should.  Is  it  a  kindness  to  assist  him  to  gain  her 
under  those  circumstances  ?  Is  it  not  better,  even 
for  him,  that  they  are  never  united  ?" 

A  long  breath  came,  as  he  caught  at  this  thought, 
and  then  he  rejected  it. 

"  Self,  self,  nothing  but  self  !"  he  ejaculated. 
"  Sophistries  are  they  all,  yes,  every  one  of  these 
things  I  am  saying.  I  want  that  girl,  and  every- 
thing that  seems  to  justify  me  in  trying  to  win  her 
I  eagerly  embrace.  Trying  to  win  her !  Why,  I 
have  won  her  already  !  I  have  done  unblushingly 
the  thing  I  so  condemned  in  Frank.  Lettie  loves 
me.  It  does  not  take  a  wise  eye  to  see  that.  If  I 
say  the  word  she  will  leave  home,  father,  everything 
to  share  my  life.  But  can  I  take  her  with  honor  ?  No. 
Shall  I  take  her  without  it,  and  try  to  blind  my  eyes 
by  the  fact  that  I  am  to  devote  my  life  to  the  service 
of  the  God  I  have  outraged  ?  That  is  equally  absurd. 
Oh  !  you  evil  spirit,  who  have  led  me  into  this 
slough,  show  me  some  way  out  of  it  !" 

Clyde  rose  and  threw  this  last  exclamation  at  the 
atmosphere,  but  there  came  no  reply.  He  paused 
again,  and  a  sense  of  dreariness  came  over  him.  He 
had  been  abandoned  in  the  desert,  and  the  caravan 
had  moved  on,  heedless  of  his  strait.  Once  he  would 
have  found  refuge  in  prayer,  but  that  no  longer  suf- 
ficed him.  Say  what  he  might,  he  had  not  the  abid- 
ing faith  he  had  formerly  possessed.  The  strong,  ath- 
letic body  could  no  more  be  controlled  by  the  over- 
tasked brain. 

The  maddened  horse  with  the  bits  in  his  teeth 
recks  not  the  rein  of  his  rider.  It  was  too  late  to 
guide  the  animal,  who  had  a  taste  of  his  own  strength 


'182  AN   ORIGINAL   SINNER. 

and  of  his  master's  weakness.  And  yet,  even  as 
things  seemed  most  desperate,  Clyde  did  not  wholly 
give  up  the  fight.  He  had  struggled  too  long  to 
throw  down  everything  in  a  moment  of  discourage- 
ment. He  might  be  dashed  in  pieces  over  the  preci- 
pice in  front  of  him,  but  he  would  hold  out  till  the 
last. 

With  this  reflection  there  came  new  vigor  into  his 
mind.  He  would  at  least  try  to  keep  his  word  with 
Melton.  He  would  go  to  the  house  on  Shawmut 
avenue  and  talk  with  Col.  Fuller  and  say  what  Mark 
had  asked  him  to  say.  Perhaps  the  Colonel  would 
refuse  to  give  up  his  daughter  upon  any  less  terms 
than  he  had  before  stated — the  years  yet  to  elapse 
and  the  actual  demonstration  of  Melton's  ability  to 
support  her  out  of  the  profits  of  his  profession. 
Perhaps  he  had  changed  his  mind  altogether  and 
would  not  give  his  consent  to  her  marrying  Mark 
under  any  circumstances  ! 

Clyde  tried  honestly  to  crush  down  these  thoughts, 
for  he  felt  that  they  were  not  the  ones  he  ought  to 
encourage,  but  they  persisted  in  crowding  themselves 
upon  him.  At  least  they  made  it  easier  for  him  to 
go  to  the  Colonel's  and  ascertain  the  state  of  his 
mind.  After  partaking  of  a  light  repast,  he  walked 
—a  conveyance  would  not  have  enabled  him  to  take 
the  exercise  he  felt  so  much  in  need  of — to  Mrs. 
Bright's,  where  Bessie  met  him  at  the  door. 

The  young  girl  started  at  sight  of  him — she  was 
never  wholly  easy  in  his  presence,  and  she  had  not 
expected  to  see  him  this  time — but  he  only  bowed 
with  gravity  and  inquired  if  Col.  Fuller  was  at  home. 
Bessie  answered  that  the  Colonel  was  out,  but  that 


COMPELLING   A  KISS.  183 

Miss  Lettie  was  in,  and  Clyde  said  he  would  go  up, 
if  she  pleased,  and  wait  for  him. 

As  he  ascended  the  stairs  it  struck  him  as  strange 
that  he  had  not  thought  of  the  probability  that  the 
Colonel  would  be  at  the  Veternns  Club  at  that  time 
of  day,  for  he  had  visited  there  before  when  that 
knowledge  was  the  chief  reason  for  his  coming.  The 
rapt  mood  in  which  he  had  been  ever  since  his  talk 
with  Melton  was  the  cause  of  his  forgetfulness.  He 
was  not  sorry,  however,  that  he  should  see  Lettie 
alone  a  little  while  before  her  father's  return.  It 
would  give  him  an  opportunity  to  study  her,  and 
help  him  decide  whether  he  had  the  strength  to 
carry  out  the  resolve  he  had  been  making  on  the 
way  to  the  house. 

Lettie  started  even  more  violently  than  Bessie  had 
done,  when  she  opened  the  door  to  him.  She  knew 
he  had  talked  of  coming  to  Boston,  for  Frank  had 
written  to  her  of  this  fact,  and  she  had  remained  at 
home  both  afternoon  and  evening  for  more  than  a 
week  in  the  fear  that  she  might  miss  him  if  she  went 
out.  But  now  that  he  stood  before  her  eyes  the 
shock  was  a  pronounced  one,  and  she  could  not  con- 
ceal her  feelings.  Realizing  fully  all  that  was  pass- 
ing in  her  mind,  he  pretended  not  to  notice  it,  and 
taking  her  hand  in  his  for  one  brief  moment — as  it 
hung  limp  at  her  side — he  murmured  the  words  that 
rose  to  his  lips. 

"  It  was  thoughtless  of  me  not  to  send  a  messenger 
earlier  in  the  day,"  he  said,  as  he  took  a  chair.  "  I 
have  been  gone  so  long  that  your  father's  habit  of 
spending  most  of  his  evenings  out  quite  slipped 
my  mind.  Nevertheless,  I  am  glad  to  see  you,  and 


184  AN   ORIGINAL  SINNER. 

if  you  will  permit  me,  I  will  rest  here  till  hi* 
return." 

Lettie  came  to  herself  suddenly.  She  wondered 
what  he  would  think  of  her  manner.  She  knew  she 
had  not  even  invited  him  to  enter,  that  he  had  taken 
the  hand  she  had  not  held  out  and  the  chair  she  had 
not  offered  him.  She  stammered  an  apology,  saying 
she  had  been  so  surprised — that  she  had  expected 
some  one  else — that  she  was  not  feeling  quite  well. 
He  smiled  in  his  grave  way,  affecting  not  to  notice 
her  abstraction,  and  began  to  ask  her  the  ordinary 
questions  of  one  who  has  been  absent,  until  he  had 
her  at  her  ease  again.  He  talked  a  little  of  himself, 
told  of  the  places  he  had  visited,  of  the  idle  life  he 
had  led  because  he  could  not  yet  bring  himself  to 
enter  on  anything  more  useful,  at  which  he  admitted 
his  shame.  But  he  said  he  believed  this  would  be 
his  last  summer  as  a  wanderer,  that  by  the  autumn 
he  would  have  begun  to  atone  for  the  sins  of 
omission  of  which  he  was  guilty. 

Then  he  spoke  of  the  ministry  and  his  hope  to  do 
some  good  in  it,  though  he  still  had  great  doubts  of 
his  worthiness.  And  Lettie  listened  with  strange 
feelings,  wondering  if  there  was  something  more  at 
the  end,  something  she  would  much  rather  have 
heard,  and  to  which  this  might  be  only  a  prelude ; 
listened,  till  the  step  of  her  father  was  heard  on  the 
stair,  and  her  heart  sank  because  the  man  she  loved 
had  spoken  nothing  of  what  she  wished  to  hear. 

The  Colonel  was  in  a  rather  bad  temper.  His 
daughter  noted  the  frown  on  his  face  the  moment 
the  door  was  opened.  He  had  lost  a  game  of  crib- 
bage  before  leaving  the  club,  with  a  new  member, 
and  it  disturbed  him  a  good  deal.  When  he  was  out 


COMPELLING   A  KISS.  185 

of  temper  everybody  in  his  circle  usually  came  in  for 
their  share  of  its  effects.  He  had  noticed  for  the 
first  thing  that  Lettie  was  out  of  bed,  and  as  it  was 
past  ten  o'clock  he  had  opened  his  mouth  to  ask  the 
reason  in  tones  that  would  not  have  been  of  the 
softest  kind. 

Just  in  time  to  stop  him  she  mentioned  the  name  of 
their  visitor.  Upon  hearing  it,  the  Colonel's  face 
underwent  an  instant  transformation.  He  strode 
toward  Clyde  and  placed  his  hand  heartily  in  that  of 
the  young  man. 

"  By  George,  I'm  glad  to  see  you  !"  he  cried. 
"What  an  age  it  is  since  you  were  here!  Where 
have  you  kept  yourself  ?  Well,  well  !  (Lettie,  you 
can  go  to  bed.)  Hope  you're  not  in  a  hurry.  I 
want  to  talk  with  you  for  two  hours,  at  least." 

Lettie  had  felt  her  fondness  for  this  father  grow- 
ing less  and  less  for  a  long  time,  but  at  this  moment 
she  had  a  sense  of  actual  outrage  that  she  could 
hardly  endure.  He  had  no  right  to  throw  that  order 
to  her,  in  the  presence  of  this  man,  as  if  she  were  a 
three-years'  child.  It  degraded  her,  it  lowered  her  in 
the  estimation  of  him  for  whom  she  cared  more  than 
for  all  other  men  combined.  The  angry  tears  flew 
to  her  eyes,  as  she  turned  to  execute  her  father's 
bidding.  At  her  bedroom  door  she  remembered  the 
guest,  and  turning  towards  him,  unmindful  of  the 
drops  that  were  overflowing  on  her  cheek,  she  bade 
him  good-night  in  a  voice  that  was  scarcely  audible. 

Clyde  felt  a  strong  inclination  to  lift  his  hand  and 
smite  this  blind  parent,  if  possibly  that  might  rouse 
him  to  a  sense  of  what  he  had  done.  The  girl  had 
hardly  left  the  room,  when  the  Colonel  remembered 
the  omission  of  which  she  had  been  guilty.  She 


186  AN   OBIGINAL   SINNEK. 

had  not  kissed  him.     Excusing  himself  he  went  to 
her  door  and  knocked  upon  it. 
"  Lettie  !" 


Clyde  heard  the  voice  and  noted  its  defiant  ring. 
The  Colonel  did  not  notice  that,  however.  He  could 
not  have  comprehended  such  a  thing  in  this  child, 
who  had  never  had  any  will  of  her  own  since  he  had 
first  seen  her  in  her  mother's  arms,  twenty-one  years 
before. 

"  Lettie,  you  have  forgotten." 

"  What  have  1  forgotten  t" 

Again  the  defiant  ring.  Clyde  wished  he  was 
further  away.  He  feared  there  was  going  to  be  a 
collision  that  he  would  rather  not  witness. 

"  You  did  not  kiss  me." 

For  five  seconds,  that  seemed  like  five  hours,  there 
was  no  reply. 

"  Did  I  not  ?"  said  the  voice,  at  last.  "  Well,  I 
will  do  it  to-morrow." 

"  No,  I  want  it  now." 

It  was  a  question  in  the  girl's  mind  for  a  moment 
what  she  would  do.  She  thought  she  never  could 
kiss  him  again  without  repugnance.  He  had  in- 
sulted her  before  the  only  person  whose  presence 
would  have  made  her  mind  it.  But  she  did  not 
want  trouble  while  Mr.  Morley  was  there,  and  she 
thought  perhaps  he  would  blame  her  for  the  part 
she  had  already  played. 

"Wait  a  minute,  then,"  she  said. 

Clyde  tried  to  picture  to  himself  the  girl  as  she 
was  in  that  room.  Was  the  delay  caused  by  her 
desire  to  wipe  from  her  eyes  the  telltale  traces  of 
her  anger  and  grief  ?  Or  had  she  already  removed 


COMPELLING   A   KISS.  187 

some  of  her  outer  garments,  making  herself  unfit 
for  exhibition  in  the  presence  of  one  not  a  member 
of  the  family?  Strange  for  a  student  of  divinity 
were  the  pictures  he  drew  in  that  brief  moment 
before  she  opened  the  door  and  came  into  the  Col- 
onel's presence. 

"  Good-night." 

Lettie  uttered  the  words  in  the  perfunctory  man- 
ner she  had  used  from  childhood,  and  touched  the 
bronzed  cheek  of  her  father  with  her  lips.  At  the 
same  moment  she  cast  a  look  at  Clyde  that  spoke 
as  plainly  as  words  what  was  in  her  mind.  She 
could  not  help  it.  He  might  think  less  of  her  for 
the  spirit  of  rebellion,  but  she  wanted  him  to  know. 

"  Excuse  me  for  this  interruption,"  said  Col. 
Fuller  affably,  as  his  daughter  disappeared  again. 
"  I  hardly  need  apologize  to  you  over  a  family 
matter,  but  I  deem  it  of  the  greatest  importance  that 
there  shall  be  no  deviation  from  an  arrangement 
once  established." 

Clyde  did  not  utter  a  word,  either  in  approval  or 
disapproval  of  this  sentiment,  and  the  Colonel  natu- 
rally considered  that  enough  had  been  said  upon 
that  head.  He  turned  the  conversation  upon  other 
things,  and  as  he  did  most  of  the  talking,  and  as  his 
guest  was  quite  willing  to  have  him,  there  was  no 
pause  in  the  flow  of  words  until  the  hands  of  the 
mantel  clock  pointed  to  half-past  eleven. 

By  an  unaccountable  freak  of  the  intellect  Clyde 
found  himself  growing  stronger  in  his  purpose  of 
saying  something  in  favor  of  Mark  Melton's  cause 
than  he  had  ever  been.  When  he  had  decided  to  go 
up  to  the  room  where  Miss  Fuller  was  sitting  alone, 
it  seemed  to  him  a  most  dangerous  proceeding  and 


188  AN   ORIGINAL   SINNER. 

one  little  likely  to  forward  the  enterprise  he  had  un- 
dertaken. When  the  Colonel  sent  her  to  bed  in  that 
rough  way,  and  the  girl  turned  her  wet  eyes  upon 
him,  he  could  have  murdered  someone,  almost,  in  the 
first  flush  of  his  sympathy.  He  was  in  no  mood  at 
that  moment  to  ask  anything  of  his  host,  and  hardly 
able  to  endure  even  his  company  and  his  voluble 
discourse.  But  as  the  minutes  flew  by  the  thought 
of  Melton  grew  upon  him,  the  sentiment  that  he 
owed  something  to  the  sacred  name  of  friendship 
and  the  cause  of  truth.  He  would  do  as  he  had 
agreed,  allude  to  the  subject,  and  see  what  might 
come  of  it,  at  any  cost. 

"Do  you  see  much  of  Mr.  Melton?"  he  asked, 
when  an  opportunity  presented  itself. 

"  Oh,  he  comes  up  Friday  evenings,  for  a  game," 
replied  Col.  Fuller,  coldly.  "  I  do  not  see  much  of 
him  otherwise  than  that." 

"  He  has  had  a  little  stroke  of  luck,"  said  Clyde. 
Then,  as  the  Colonel  looked  up  inquiringly,  he 
explained  :  "  A  relation  has  left  him  some  money." 

Col.  Fuller  did  not  seem  much  interested,  but  he 
inquired  the  amount,  as  a  matter,  apparently,  of 
form. 

"  Five  or  six  thousand  dollars,  I  believe.  A  tidy 
windfall  to  a  young  fellow  just  beginning  practice. 
It  will  be  a  great  aid  to  him,  in  getting  a  good  house 
to  set  up  in  ;  and  in  case  he  should  want  to — to 
marry — or  anything  of  that  kind." 

The  Colonel  has  ceased  to  be  interested,  when  the 
word  "  marry  "  caught  his  ear. 

"He  won't  get  married,  not  right  away,"  he 
replied,  confidentially.  "  I  don't  mind  telling  you 
that  he  came  to  me  once  and  asked  for  Lettie.  You 


COMPELLING   A    KISS.  189 

won't  say  anything,  of  course.  I  told  him  they  were 
both  too  young  to  talk  of  such  a  thing,  but  that  if  he 
did  well  I  might  think  of  it,  five  or  ten  years  later. 
He  hasn't  spoken  since,  but  I  know  it's  not  out  of 
his  mind.  Marriage  !"  exclaimed  the  old  gentle- 
man. "  What  the  deuce  do  these  boys  see  so  fine  in  it,  I 
wonder?  Before  they're  out  of  school  they  want  to 
get  a  woman  tied  to  them  for  life  !  I  was  thirty 
when  I  married,  and  I  should  be  ninety,  if  I  had  to 
live  my  life  over  again.  I  tell  you,  sir,  it's  the  biggest 
nonsense  any  man  ever  got  into  his  head  !" 

Clyde  remarked  that  Mark  was  not  at  all  a  bad 
sort  of  young  fellow  though. 

"  He's  a  baby  !"  cried  the  Colonel.  "  He's  a  milk- 
sop !  Nothing  like  his  father,  the  Major.  There 
was  a  man  for  you  !  Ready  to  jump  into  any 
scrimmage,  caring  no  more  for  a  shower  of  bullets 
than  any  one  else  would  for  a  shower  of  rain.  If  he 
wanted  to  marry  a  girl,  sir,  he  wouldn't  ask  any  one, 
not  even  her,  I  really  believe.  He'd  ride  down  to 
her  house,  and  take  her  across  his  saddle,  sir,  and 
gallop  to  the  nearest  minister's." 

Clyde  could  not  help  a  smile  as  he  asked  if  this 
manner  of  procedure  met  with  the  approval  of  the 
narrator. 

"  Hang  it,  no  !"  laughed  the  Colonel.  "  But  you 
couldn't  help  admiring  the  spirit  of  the  fellow,  after 
all.  When  he  was  a  lieutenant,  and  under  my  com- 
mand, he  stole  a  pair  of  ducks  right  out  of  my  mess- 
tent,  in  broad  daylight,  and  I  went  down  to  have  it 
out  with  him.  By  George,  sir !  I  fell  in  love  with 
the  bravado  of  the  cuss.  I  dined  with  him  that 
night  and  let  him  help  me  to  a  plate  of  my  own 


190  AN   ORIGINAL   SINNER. 

birds,  sir  !  The  rascal  actually  talked  at  the  table 
of  the  expense  he  had  been  to  in  getting  them,  in- 
venting the  damnedest  stories  you  ever  heard,  and  I 
never  spoke  out  once.  This  boy  of  his  is  a  baby  ; 
but  he's  his  father's  son  and  I  shan't  forget  that. 
When  he's  old  enough,  and  she  is,  he  can  have  her, 
for  the  love  I  bore  my  dearest  friend." 

At  the  reminiscense,  the  Colonel  wiped  a  suspic- 
ious looking  drop  of  moisture  from  his  eye,  and 
Clyde  thought  it  a  good  time  to  take  his  departure. 

"  You  can't  marry  until  you  are  five  years  older, 
Mark,"  he  said  to  Melton  the  next  day,  "  unless  you 
are  willing  to  kidnap  and  ride  off  with  her." 

Then,  as  Mark  looked  at  him  blankly,  he  related 
the  gist  of  the  Colonel's  statement. 

"I'm  afraid  there's  not  much  hope,  then,"  was 
Mark's  rueful  reply. 

"  Don't  say  I  advised  you,"  said  Morley,  with  a 
cutting  accent.  "  But  if  it  was  my  case  I'd  not  wait 
long.  I'd  go  to  her  and  speak  up  like  a  man.  If 
he's  not  willing  I'd  take  her  without.  If  you've  no 
horse  to  saddle,  try  a  Pullman  car.  Wait  five  years 
— or  one  year — or  one  month — and  you  risk  every- 
thing !" 


CHAPTER  XVIII. 

"SHE  WILL  PROBABLY  HAVE  CHILDREN." 

The  Revere  Club  languished  when  Frank  Morley 
was  out  of  town.  To  be  sure,  Mark  Melton  had  a 
habit  of  lounging  in  there  for  a  lunch  as  of  yore  ; 
Charlie  Wilkins  came  because  he  had  nothing  els« 


"SHE   WILL   PROBABLY    HAVE   CHILDBEN."         191 

to  do  ;  Silas  Clarke  dropped  around  whenever  he 
wanted  to  borrow  a  dollar  or  two  of  Charlie ;  and 
the  young  man  from  the  leather  house  on  High  street 
still  made  it  a  practice  to  eat  there  because  he  could 
get  a  better  lunch  for  his  money  than  at  any  of  the 
outside  restaurants.  But  the  club  as  a  whole  became 
a  very  dull  institution  that  summer  when  Frank 
stayed  away  longer  than  usual,  and  when  nobody 
had  authority  to  state  when  he  would  return  or  even 
where  he  was  spending  his  time. 

"  What  the  de-vil  do  you  sup-pose  the  fel-low  is 
do-ing?"  drawled  Wilkins,  one  warm  afternoon, 
addressing  himself  to  Clarke.  "  He's  al-ways  talk- 
ing about  study-ing  law,  but  he  ne-ver  gwad-uates 
or  o-pens  an  of-fice.  I  wish,  on  my  so-ul,  he  wouldn't 
be  so  de-vilish  mys-te-wious." 

"  Pshaw  !"  ejaculated  Clarke.  "  Leave  him  alone 
to  know  his  own  business.  That  psalm-singing 
brother  of  his  is  in  town  and  you  can't  get  Frank  to 
show  up  while  they're  liable  to  run  into  each  other." 

Wilkins  looked  interested. 

"  The  de-vil !"  he  replied.  "  What  is  the  fel-low 
doing  he-re  ?" 

"  How  the  hades  should  I  know  ?"  was  the  answer. 
"  Whenever  I  see  him  he's  fooling  around  Melton, 
who  thinks  there's  something  in  him  worth  cultiv- 
ating, blessed  if  I  can  see  what  !  I've  got  an  idea, 
Charlie,  that  I'll  tell  you  if  you  can  keep  your  mouth 
shut  tight  enough." 

Wilkins  announced  in  his  halting  way  that  the 
opening  referred  to  should  be  religiously  kept  sealed 
so  far  as  this  matter  was  concerned. 

"Well,  you  know  Melton  goes  a  good  deal  to  see 
Col.  Fuller,  the  old  ex-army  officer  who  lives  on 


192  AN   ORIGINAL   SINNER. 

Shavvmut  avenue,  the  one  with  the  pretty  daughter 
that  Frank  called  the  best  shod  woman  in  Boston 
one  day  when  we  were  all  sitting  at  the  window 
there.  The  old  man  plays  cribbage,  and  Mark 
gives  him  a  game  once  or  twice  a  week.  Now,  it's 
plain  enough  to  me  that  this  is  only  a  blind  to  get 
on  the  right  side  of  his  royal  highness,  and  that  the 
girl  is  the  real  object  of  the  campaign." 

Charlie  could  only  exclaim,  in  a  feeble  voice,  "  The 
de-vil!"  This  being  his  favorite  method  of  express- 
ing all  ideas  of  whatever  magnitude. 

"  Melton  goes  there,"  pursued  Clarke,  with  a  wise 
expression,  "  with  the  view  of  capturing  the  pretty 
daughter.  But  another  man  has  also  set  his  eyes  in 
that  direction,  for  I  happen  to  know  that  Mr.  Frank 
Morley  rooms  in  that  very  house.  Now,  is  it  the 
only  place  in  Boston  where  he  could  obtain  a  lodging  ? 
Is  it  the  most  central  one  for  a  young  man  whose 
office  work,  when  he  does  any,  is  on  Court  street  ? 
By  no  means.  Why,  then,  does  he  room  there  ? 
Because  he,  also,  has  his  eye  on  the  best  shod  feet 
in  the  Hub  of  the  Universe  !" 

The  plot  thus  outlined  was  so  deep  and  cunning 
in  the  estimation  of  Mr.  Wilkins  that  even  his  custom- 
ary exclamation  failed  to  satisfy  him.  He  reclined 
in  his  favorite  position,  marveling  at  the  newspaper 
acumen  that  had  enabled  Clarke  to  come  to  such  a 
stupendously  wise  decision. 

"  That  makes  two  applicants  for  the  hand — I  should 
say  the  feet — of  Miss  Fuller,"  continued  Clarke, 
after  pausing  to  note  the  effect  of  his  guesses. 
"  But  that,  it  appears,  is  not  enough.  There  must 
be  a  third  one.  And  who  is  this  third  one  ?  I  have 
happened  to  pass  the  house  twice  in  the  last  week, 


"  SHE   WILL   PBOBABLY    HAVE   OHILDBEN.J>        193 

at  about  eight  o'clock  in  the  evening,  and  I  have 
seen  another  man  at  the  bell.  That  other  man — • 
now,  Charlie,  if  you  let  this  out  I'll  kill  you — was 
the  preacher  !" 

Charlie  roused  himself  enough  to  repeat  *'  The  de- 
vil !"  a  great  many  times,  until  Silas  thought  it  best 
to  stop  him. 

"  Who  has  the  best  show  out  of  this  interesting 
party  ?  You  know  what  Mark  is,  too  honest  to  live 
and  too  slow  to  breathe,  almost.  He  has  no  chance 
at  all.  We'll  leave  him  out  of  the  combination  from 
the  start.  While  he  and  the  old  man  are  playing 
cribbage  the  girl  will  lose  her  heart  to  one  of  the 
other  two.  Which  one  ?  Well,  you  may  put  me 
down  for  a  fool  if  I  don't  think  it  is  most  likely  to 
be  the  minister." 

Wilkins  had  got  as  far  as  "  The  de — "  when  he 
was  interrupted. 

"  For  Heaven's  sake,  Charlie,  leave  your  patron 
saint  alone  for  a  minute  and  listen  to  me  !  Where  a 
girl  is  at  stake  the  fellow  on  the  ground  has  a  chance 
worth  two  of  the  other  one's.  This  gospel-spouter 
is  here  and  Frank  is — the  Lord  only  knows  where. 
If  he  knew  what  his  brother  is  up  to  he'd  show  up 
pretty  sudden,  you  can  bet  your  life.  I'd  give  a 
dollar  to  get  hold  of  his  address,  for  I  hate  every 
form  of  preacher  worse  than  I  do  poison.  I've 
asked  Melton  and  he  says  he  doesn't  know.  The 
minister  knows,  of  course,  but  that's  all  the  good  it 
will  do  me.  I  consider  it  the  duty  of  a  member  of 
the  Revere  Club  to  protect  the  interests  of  a  brother 
when  he  is  away.  Now,  the  thing  to  do  is  for  one 
of  us  to  go  up  there  to  that  house  on  Shawmut 
avenue,  engage  a  room,  and  watch  proceedings." 


194  AN   ORIGINAL   SINNEE. 

Firmly  believing  that  Clarke  was  one  of  the  wisest 
men  on  this  planet,  Wilkins  cordially  indorsed  this 
suggestion. 

"  But  who  the  de-vil  can  do  it  ?"  he  inquired. 

"  You  can." 

Charlie  began  to  stammer,  "  I — I — I — " 

"Yes,  you — you — you!  You  can  and  you  must. 
You  have  nothing  else  to  do.  Go  up  there  and  get 
a  room.  It  is  the  summer  season  and  you  are  sure 
to  find  one  empty.  Don't  mind  how  good  it  is  or 
how  poor — engage  it  and  send  a  trunk  there.  And 
when  you  have  a  key  to  the  premises,  clear  out  that 
thick  head  of  yours  and  discover  what  is  going 
on." 

It  took  a  good  hour  before  Wilkins  could  be  made 
to  believe  that  this  plan  was  really  feasible.  He 
/made  every  excuse  in  the  world  to  get  out  of  it,  but 
Oarke  would  not  yield  an  inch.  Ciiarlie  plead  the 
hardship  of  having  to  leave  his  luxurious  apartments 
on  Marlboro  street  ;  the  pickle  he  would  be  in  if 
Frank  returned  and  suspected  the  part  he  was  play- 
ing ;  and  finally,  in  a  burst  of  confidence,  he  re- 
vealed the  fact  that  at  this  present  time  he  was 
devoting  himself  assiduously  to  winning  the  affec- 
tions of  a  doo-cid  pretty  gi-rl,  with  whom  he  had 
recently  become  acquainted. 

Clarke's  brow  was  at  once  covered  with  a  thunder- 
cloud. 

"Again!"  he  exclaimed.  "Goodness,  Charlie, 
are  you  never  going  to  let  up  on  this  sort  of  thing?" 

"  But — but  you  have-n't  seen  her,"  protested  poor 
Charlie,  with  a  frightened  look.  "  She's  a  tweas-ure, 
a  pos-tive  tweas-ure!  I'm  su-re  you'd  say  I  was 
wight  this  time,  de-ar  boy." 


"  SHE  WILL   PROBABLY   HAVE   CHILDREN,"        195 

Clarke  shook  his  head  rapidly. 

"It's  not  a  question  of  '  tweasures,'"  he  replied, 
with  dignity,  mocking  the  pronunciation  of  his  com- 
panion. "  It's  a  question  of  heredity.  You  will  have 
to  look  on  the  matter  as  one  of  crossing  breeds 
exclusively.  You  wanted  a  while  ago  to  cross  the 
Yankee  with  the  Jew,  and  before  that  with  the  Ger- 
man, and  I  told  you  what  the  effect  would  be.  You 
were  wise  enough  to  see  the  application.  Now, 
what  is  the  name  of  this  girl  that  you  have  at  pres- 
ent under  consideration  ?" 

With  a  shaking  voice  Wilkins  imparted  the  infor- 
mation that  she  was  called  Marie  Lamartine.  Then 
Clarke's  brow  grew  yet  darker. 

"  French  !"  he  cried.  "  French,  by  all  that's 
imbecile  !  Heavens  !  If  you  marry  that  girl  she 
will  probably  have  children,  and  what  will  they  be? 
What  will  they  be?  Don't  evade  the  question. 
Come,  what  will  those  children  be  ?" 

He  had  not  paused  for  the  slightest  moment,  to 
give  an  opportunity  for  a  reply,  but  his  manner  was 
so  frigid  as  to  set  Wilkins'  teeth  to  chattering. 

"  What  will  they  be  ?"  he  repeated,  for  the  third 
time.  "  Can  you  hope  they  will  not  smell  of  garlic  ? 
Will  they  occupy  their  time  principally  in  catching 
frogs,  or  will  they  not  ?  If  they  are  sons,  will  they 
drink  anything  but  absinthe  when  they  grow  up  ? 
If  daughters,  will  they  refrain  on  any  occasion  from 
dancing  the  can-can  ?  You  ought  to  know  some- 
thing of  French  habits,  at  your  age.  You  must  have 
read  books  that  give  an  inkling  of  it.  Do  you  want 
a  wife  who  will  feel  it  absolutely  necessary  to  her 
position  in  society  that  she  must  have  at  least  seven 
lovers  ?" 


t96  AN   ORIGINAL   SINNER. 

The  distressed  auditor  could  only  gasp  "  Gwa- 
cious  !" 

"  I  ought  never  to  be  surprised  at  you  again,"  con- 
tinued Silas,  in  a  tone  of  great  severity.  "  You  have 
become  so  used  to  considering  marriage  in  the  mere 
light  of  an  amusement,  that  you  forget  its  true  mean- 
ing. Now,  listen  to  me.  You  must  give  up  seeing 
Mile.  Lamartine." 

"  Oh-me-Gard  !" 

"  And  you  must  go  at  once  to  engage  a  room  on 
Shawnut  avenue." 

"The  de-vil  !" 

Clarke  enforced  his  direction  without  loss  of  time. 

"  Go  up  to  the  door  as  large  as  life,  mind  you,  and 
not  as  if  you  were  a  pickpocket  in  disguise.  If 
there  is  any  kind  of  a  room  there,  engage  it,  and 
before  night  get  in  enough  baggage  so  you  can  stay. 
Don't  talk  to  me  about  this  and  that,  but  do  as  I 
tell  you.  We  don't  want  that  psalm-singer  to  carry 
off  the  rightful  bride  of  Frank  Morley,  and  we  are 
the  only  ones  who  can  stop  him." 

Accustomed  as  he  was  to  being  guided  by  Clarke, 
Charlie  made  but  a  feeble  resistance  after  this,  and 
with  grave  doubts  of  his  ability  to  accomplish  any- 
thing he  set  out  an  hour  later  to  the  address  given 
him.  He  felt  much  dejected  as  he  contemplated  the 
abandonment  of  his  amour  with  pretty  Marie,  which 
had  been  progressing  in  a  harmless  and  semi-platonic 
way  for  a  fortnight.  Marie,  it  may  as  well  be  said, 
was  not  of  aristocratic  lineage,  but  Charlie  had 
no  scruples  against  making  love  to  her  on  that  ac- 
count. She  was  the  accredited  nurse  to  one  of  the 
babies  which  on  pleasant  days  make  the  centre  of 
Commonwealth  avenue  to  blossom  as  the  rose. 


"SHE   WILL   PROBABLY   HAVE    CHILDEEJT."        197 

Charlie  had  made  her  acquaintance  in  the  most  off- 
hand fashion,  and  would  undoubtedly  have  talked 
to  her  of  matrimony  in  time  had  it  not  been  for  the 
interference  of  his  self-constituted  guardian.  As  he 
rode  in  a  street  car  toward  the  house  he  sought,  he 
recalled  the  bewitching  ways  of  his  charmer,  and 
the  delicious  accent  with  which  she  had  answered 
his  good-mornings.  He  had  intended  to  invite  her 
to  a  little  supper  that  very  evening,  having  progressed 
so  far  as  to  learn  that  she  was  allowed  to  be  out 
after  the  baby's  bedtime,  which  occurred  at  six.  He 
did  not  fancy  the  new  task  he  had  been  given  half  as 
much  as  he  did  a  tete-a-tete  with  such  a  little  fairy  as 
Marie.  But,  of  course,  Clarke  was  right.  It  was  the 
duty  of  a  Man — and  Wilkins  prided  himself  upon 
that  title — to  think  of  his  prospective  offspring 
vbove  all  things. 

"  Gwa-cious  !"  It  was  a  narrow  escape  !  "  The 
de-vil  !"  He  would  not  go  so  far  again  without 
seeking  his  friend's  advice. 

If  Charlie  was  confused  when  he  rang  the  door- 
bell at  Mrs.  Bright's  he  was  much  more  so  when,  in- 
stead of  a  servant,  Miss  Bessie  came  to  answer  it. 
He  recognized  her  as  the  young  lady  whom  he  had 
seen  on  several  occasions  with  Miss  Fuller,  and  as 
he  knew  nothing  of  her  relationship  to  the  landlady 
of  the  house,  he  was  so  much  at  a  loss  what  to  say, 
that  he  stood  stock-still  at  the  threshold,  never 
uttering  a  word  ;  until  at  last  Bessie  asked  him,  in  a 
surprised  tone,  whether  he  wished  to  see  any  one. 

"  Ya-as,  of  course,"  he  replied.  "  Ya-as.  I 
wa-nted  to  know,  you  know,  if  there  were  any 
w-wooms  to  let,  you  know." 

And  hav'og  delivered  himself  of  this  sentence  with 


198  AN   OBIGINAL   SINNER. 

great  difficulty,  he  paused  to  catch  his  breath,  which 
bore  great  evidence  of  an  intention  to  desert  him 
permanently. 

"  There  is  one,"  said  Bessie.  "It  is  on  the  top 
floor,  and  the  price  is  three  dollars  a  week.  Will 
you  look  at  it  ?" 

Charlie  stared  at  her  for  some  seconds  in  stupid 
surprise. 

"  Ya-as  !  Ya-as,  of  course  !"  he  ejaculated,  sud- 
denly recovering  himself.  "  Ya-as !  He-re."  He 
took  out  his  purse.  "  I  will  pay  a  month  in  ad- 
vance— and — and  I  will  send  my — my  thi-ngs,  you 
know,  this  eve-ning." 

A  fear  that  she  was  dealing  with  a  lunatic  began 
to  enter  Bessie's  mind. 

"  You  will  go  up  and  see  the  room  first  ?'"  she 
asked. 

"  No  ;  that  is,  ya-as  !"  said  Wilkins.  "  But  I'm 
not  particular,  you  know.  I'm  sure  it  will  suit  me. 
Ya-as." 

Bessie  asked  him  to  come  in  and  wait  a  moment 
in  the  parlor.  Then  she  went  into  the  kitchen  and 
got  one  of  the  girls  to  come  with  her,  as  she  did  not 
like  to  go  up  stairs  with  him  alone.  The  girl,  who 
was  a  very  comely  Irish  lass,  smiled  broadly  as  she 
saw  the  new  lodger,  but  Charlie  paid  no  attention  to 
her.  He  just  peeped  into  the  room,  which  he  said 
suited  him  exactly,  and  then  he  tendered  the  money 
again. 

"  We  only  want  one  week's  pay  at  a  time,"  said 
Bessie.  "  If  you  wish  to  give  me  three  dollars  when 
you  come  to-night  I  will  have  a  receipt  ready." 

Quite  glad  to  escape  from  the  presence  of  the  two 
girls  Wilkins  accepted  the  opportunity  to  get  out  of 


W8HE   WILL   PROBABLY    HAVE   CHILDREN."        199 

the  house.  That  evening  he  installed  himself  in  his 
room  and  began  his  role  of  amateur  detective. 

"  It's  doo-cid  close,  the  box  they  put  me  in,"  he 
told  Clarke,  at  the  club,  the  next  day.  '•'  I  thought 
I  ne-ver  should  get  to  sleep  in  it,  you  know.  I  don't 
weally  fawn-cy  it,  bah  Jove  ?" 

"You  stick  to  it  till  you  find  out  something  about 
that  parson,"  said  Clarke,  decidedly.  "  And  incident- 
ally see  if  you  can  get  Frank's  address  out  of  any  of 
them.  Say  there  is  a  letter  for  him  that  ought  to  be 
forwarded.  If  one  person  in  the  house  don't  know 
it,  ask  the  others.  Here  is  the  first  chance  you  have 
ever  had  to  distinguish  yourself,  and  you  must  make 
the  most  of  it." 

Wilkins  was  not  long  in  getting  into  the  good 
graces  of  at  least  one  member  of  the  household — 
the  pretty  servant  girl  who  had  gone  up  with  Bessie 
to  show  him  his  room.  Her  name  was  Maggie  and 
she  had  the  duty  among  other  things  of  putting  his 
room  in  order.  Charlie  took  the  easiest  way  of 
making  friends  with  her,  which  was  by  a  liberal 
douceur,  and  she  openly  expressed  her  opinion  below 
stairs  that  the  new  lodger  was  "  a  gintleman,"  before 
he  had  been  twenty-four  hours  in  the  house.  As  no 
one  suspected  her  reason  for  coming  to  this  decision 
her  verdict  was  accepted  by  the  landlady  and  her 
niece,  and  they  congratulated  themselves  on  their 
tenant,  who  had  turned  out  to  be  merely  eccentric 
and  not  dangerous,  as  had  at  first  been  feared. 

Charlie  soon  learned  that  Maggie  knew  nothing  of 
the  whereabouts  of  Mr.  Frank  Morley.  He  also 
learned  that  she  had  asked  Miss  Bessie  about  the 
matter  and  that  this  young  lady  was  no  wiser  than 
herself.  Maggie  did  chatter  a  good  deal,  however, 


200  AN  OKIGINAL  8INNES. 

about  the  Fullers,  and  Mr.  Clyde  never  made  a  call 
upon  either  the  Colonel  or  his  daughter  that  the  fact 
•  fas  not  promptly  communicated  to  Wilkins.  Still 
there  was  not  much  of  value  to  this  in  itself,  and 
Silas  Clarke  expressed  great  impatience  with  his 
detective  when  he  told  him  how  little  he  was  learn* 
ing. 

A  week  passed  by  before  anything  transpired 
worthy  of  record.  Then  a  strange  thing  occurred. 
Charlie  came  in  very  late  one  night,  using  his  pass- 
key so  quietly  as  not  to  disturb  any  one.  As  he 
ascended  the  stairs  he  noticed  a  dim  light  in  the 
room  at  the  left  that  he  had  been  told  was  re- 
served for  the  use  of  Frank  Morley,  never  being  let 
in  his  absence.  The  thick  coverings  prevented  the 
least  sound  of  his  feet,  and,  somewhat  startled 
by  the  unexpected  discovery,  he  trod  as  lightly  as 
possible.  As  he  came  opposite  the  door  he  heard 
a  heavy  whisper  that  was  unmistakeably  a  man's, 
and  a  lighter  one  that  he  recognized  as  belonging  to 
Miss  Bright.  Feeling  like  an  eavesdropper  who  may 
at  any  moment  be  unmasked,  and  yet  anxious  to 
penetrate  the  mystery  which  he  believed  was  being 
enacted  so  near  him,  Charlie  crept  slowly  up  the 
second  flight,  and  paused  breathless  before  climbing 
to  his  chamber  above. 

There  was  something  of  honor  in  the  breast  of 
this  peculiar  young  fellow.  Had  it  been  an  ordin- 
ary matter,  he  would  have  gone  straight  to  his  room 
preferring  not  to  know  what  was  going  on.  But  he 
had  come  into  this  house  on  a  certain  mission. 
Every  day  since  he  entered  it  he  had  been  urged  to 
renewed  vigilance  by  the  man  who  had  sent  him 


"  SHE   WILL   PROBABLY    HAVE   CHILDREN."        201 

there.  Possibly  this  strange  visitor,  in  whose  room 
Bessie  trusted  herself  at  an  hour  past  midnight, 
might  be  worth  knowing  about.  He  would  wait  a 
little  while  and  see  if  anything  was  to  be  learned. 

Should  it  appear  that  this  secret  had  nothing  to  do 
with  the  matter  he  had  in  hand,  horses  would  not 
drag  his  knowledge  from  him. 

As  he  paused  there,  the  voices  grew  a  little  louder. 
The  girl  was  protesting  against  something — plead- 
ing in  tones  that  quite  forgot  the  danger  of  dis- 
covery. Then  the  man's  voice  increased  in  volume 
also,  as  if  he,  too,  had  lost  the  sense  of  time  and  place. 
The  other  lodgers  at  this  house  were  famous  for  the 
soundness  of  their  slumbers,  or  surely  some  of  them 
might  have  been  awakened  now,  for  the  noise  was 
distinct  in  the  hallway,  and  Wilkins  began  even  to 
distinguish  words. 

" No,  no,  no!"  It  was  Bessie's  voice.  "  Go,  I  beg 
of  you  !  I  pray,  I  beseech  you, go!" 

"  Hush  !"  was  the  reply,  in  an  almost  angry  tone. 
"  Do  you  want  the  whole  house  to  know  I  am  here  ? 
And  you  pretend  to  love  me  !" 

Then  the  girl's  voice  again  : 

"  I  do  love  you,  God  knows  I  do  !  But  you  must 
go  !  Yes,  you  must !  Be  wise,  my  darling  !" 

All  of  these  words  could  now  be  heard  perfectly 
by  the  astonished  Wilkins.  It  began  to  dawn  on 
his  brain  that  he  had  heard  the  man's  voice  some- 
where before,  but  he  could  not  connect  it  with  any- 
thing definite.  But  as  he  stood  there  wondering,  he 
heard  the  girl  again,  this  time  in  a  shriller  voice, 
and  with  her  accents  evidently  inspired  by  terror. 

"  Frank  !     Frank  !     Oh,  God  help  me!" 


202  AN   ORIGINAL   8INNEE. 

For  several  seconds  no  sound  that  could  penetrate 
into  the  hallway  followed  these  last  exclamations. 
Wilkins'  face  was  white  as  a  sheet,  but  his  heart  ex- 
perienced a  determination  that  he  had  never  known 
in  his  life.  He  descended  the  stairs,  two  steps  at  a 
time,  and  grasped  the  handle  of  the  door  that  led 
into  Morley's  room.  The  bolt  was  not  shot  and  in 
an  instant  he  stood  in  the  presence  of  those  whose 
conversation  he  had  heard. 

Frank  Morley,  for  it  was  he,  sprang  to  his  feet  in 
an  attitude  of  defiance.  Then,  seeing  who  the 
intruder  was,  he  clapped  his  hands  a  moment  to  his 
head  and  sank  into  a  chair.  Bessie  threw  a  look  at 
Charlie  that  he  never  forgot,  and  for  a  little  space 
the  tableau  was  unaltered. 

"  I — I  beg  your  pawdon  !"  said  Charlie,  at  last. 
"  It  was  doo-cid  stoo-pid  of  me,  bah  Jove  !  Thought 
I  was  on  my  own  flo-or,  doncherknow.  Ya-as." 

He  withdrew  instantly  and  the  couple  were  alone 
again.  Their  frightened  eyes  sought  those  of  each 
other. 

"There  ts  a  God,"  whispered  Morley,  hoarsely, 
"  and  he  has  heard  you  !  He  has  saved  us,  and 
I — yes,  I  thank  him.  Do  not  fear  for  Wilkins.  He 
is  a  queer  fellow,  but  true  blue.  He  never  will  tell 
what  he  has  seen.  Good-night." 

He  did  not  offer  to  touch  the  girl  in  any  way,  but 
went  silently  down  the  stairs  and  out  of  doors.  And 
the  new  lodger  heard  the  latch  click  behind  him 
before  he  retired  into  his  own  chamber. 


MY  BROTHER'S  KEEPEB.  203 


CHAPTER    XIX. 
MY   BROTHER'S   KEEPER. 

Wilkins  had  come  so  suddenly  to  the  knowledge 
that  Frank  Morley  was  in  the  house,  and  Frank  had 
disappeared  so  suddenly  afterwards,  there  was  no 
opportunity  to  say  a  word  to  him  on  the  particular 
subject  which  was  the  cause  of  Charlie's  being  on 
the  premises.  It  was  not  till  some  hours  later,  lying 
in  the  stillness  of  his  room,  that  it  came  into  his  head 
what  he  had  missed.  However,  he  consoled  himself 
with  the  reflection  that  he  could  not  very  well  have 
begun  a  series  of  questions  at  such  an  inauspicious 
moment,  nor  have  imparted  what  he  wanted  the 
young  law  student  to  hear.  More  than  this,  Charlie 
had  a  dim  notion  that  he  did  not  care  so  much  to 
further  the  designs  and  wishes  of  Mr.  Frank  Morley 
as  he  had  a  few  hours  earlier.  He  began  to  think 
his  late  friend  one  whose  acquaintance  he  had  about 
as  lief  consider  at  an  end.  Charlie  was  no  prude. 
He  had  no  objection  to  any  man's  kissing  a  pretty 
girl  when  he  liked,  provided  the  pretty  girl  was  will- 
ing. But  he  did  not  think  the  little  formality  of 
finding  out  whether  shewas  willing  wholly  unworthy 
of  attention.  And  he  was  quite  certain  that  when  it 
became  strikingly  evident  that  she  was  not  willing, 
the  would-be  lover  should  reconsider  his  intention 
without  loss  of  time. 

The  next  day,  when  Silas  Clarke  asked  him  as 
usual  if  he  had  learned  anything,  he  replied  eva- 


204  AN    OBIGINAL  SINNER. 

sively.  He  had  been  at  the  club  for  more  than  an 
hour  before  the  time  that  Morley  was  in  the  habit 
of  calling,  when  in  the  city,  and  had  kept  his  eyes 
on  the  door,  expecting  momentarily  to  see  him 
enter.  He  supposed  the  natural  course  would  be  for 
Frank  to  seek  him  out  and  apologize  for,  or  at  least 
attempt  a  palliation  of  his  conduct,  and  he  had  deter- 
mined not  to  make  a  fuss  about  it,  though  he  knew 
he  never  should  think  the  same  of  him  again.  But 
when  the  figure  of  Morley  did*  not  appear,  Wilkins 
began  to  think  the  matter  stranger  than  ever. 

"  It's  doo-cid  que-er  Fwank  stays  so  long  away," 
he  lisped,  to  Clarke. 

"  Confound  him,  yes  !  But,  then,  he  never  does 
things  like  any  one  else." 

"  He  wouldn't  come  to  town  and  not  show  up 
here  ?"  ventured  Wilkins,  interrogatively. 

"Why,  he  might,"  answered  Clarke.  "And  that's 
one  of  the  reasons  why  your  guard  at  Shawmut 
avenue  is  necessary.  He  might  come  home  for  a  day 
or  two,  for  something,  and  slip  off  without  my  seeing 
him.  But  if  you  are  as  solid  with  the  Irish  girl  as  you 
think,  he  couldn't  do  that  without  your  knowing. 
And  if  he  should  come  there,  it  wouldn't  take  three 
minutes  for  you  to  put  the  flea  in  his  ear  that  his 
brother  will  bear  watching." 

No,  it  wouldn't  take  three  minutes  to  do  that, 
thought  poor  Charlie,  if  the  three  minutes  were  like 
any  ordinary  three.  When  they  were  filled  with 
wholly  unexpected  incidents,  however,  that  was 
another  matter. 

Charlie  met  Bessie  in  the  hallway  that  afternoon, 
when  he  went  in.  She  seemed  about  to  speak  to 
him,  but  apparently  changed  her  mind  at  the  last 


MY  BROTHER'S  KEEPEB.  205 

moment  and  went  into  the  parlor  instead.  He  saw 
enough  of  her  face  to  realize  that  it  was  paler  than 
ordinary,  and  that  she  was  suffering.  Had  he  had 
the  courage  he  would  have  stopped  and  said  some- 
thing to  her,  for  he  felt  the  impulse,  but  he  did  not 
know  exactly  how  to  do  it.  Arriving  at  his  room  he 
found  Maggie  there,  shutting  the  windows  on 
account  of  a  thunder-storm  that  was  rising,  and 
when  he  asked  her  whether  she  had  yet  heard  any- 
thing of  Mr.  Morley,  she  answered  that  she  had  not. 

'*  Do  you — aw — think  Miss  Bes-sie  is,  aw — partic- 
ular-ly  stwuck  with  him  ?" 

"  Well,  I  do  be  thinking  sometimes  that  she  likes 
him  pretty  well,"  said  Maggie.  "  He  be's  a  nice 
young  fellow,  and  Miss  Bessie  ain't  blind." 

Mr.  Clyde  Morley  had  been  at  the  house  only 
once  since  that  night  when  Col.  Fuller  insisted 
in  his  presence  that  his  daughter  should  obey  him. 
This  time  also  the  Colonel  had  been  at  home, 
and  at  the  regulation  hour  Lettie  kissed  him  and 
vanished  into  her  chamber.  But  on  the  evening 
following  the  one  when  Frank  was  seen  by  Wilkins, 
Clyde  came  again.  Bessie  admitted  him,  the  servants 
being  busy  at  other  work,  and  contrary  to  recent 
habit,  he  paused  a  moment  to  speak  to  her. 

"  Is  Col.  Fuller  at  home  ?" 

It  was  his  ordinary  question,  but  he  spoke  in  a 
kinder  tone  than  he  generally  used  when  talking 
with  her,  a  thing  she  was  quick  to  notice. 

"No, sir,  he  is  out,  but  Miss  Fuller  is  in.  Will  you 
step  up  and  wait  ?" 

She  had  said  that  to  him  more  than  once  before, 
but  her  voice  was  affected  by  his  manner,  from  which 


206  AN  ORIGINAL   SINNKE. 

she  had  been  led  to  feel  that  he  would  do  more  than 
ask  these  questions. 

"I  will,  but,  before  I  do  so,  may  I  not  have  a  word 
with  you  ?" 

She  led  the  way  into  the  parlor,  trembling.  She 
was  always  afraid  of  him,  and  to-day  more  than  ever. 
What  could  he  intend  to  say  ?  Was  it  possible  he 
had  heard  of  the  events  of  the  previous  evening  ?" 

"  You  are  not  at  ease,"  were  his  first  words.  "  I 
pray  you  calm  yourself.  I  have  a  message  for  you." 

She  looked  at  him  with  an  expression  of  surprise. 
He  had  a  message  for  her  ! 

"My  brother — my  brother  Frank,"  he  began,  and 
the  cloud  that  always  found  its  way  to  his  forehead 
came  with  the  name,  "  was  in  Boston  yesterday. 
I  had  a  brief  interview  with  him — a  business  inter- 
view that  could  not  well  be  avoided.  We  are  not  in 
the  habit  of  meeting  when  it  can  be  helped."  His 
tones  grew  more  and  more  severe  as  he  proceeded. 
"  Before  we  parted  he  inquired  if  I  was  likely  to  call 
here,  and  when  I  told  him  yes,  he  asked  me  to  say 
something  to  you." 

He  waited,  partly  to  gain  a  better  command  over 
his  voice,  and  partly  to  allow  her  to  compose  her- 
self. 

"  I  was  astonished,  I  need  not  say,"  he  continued, 
"at  such  a  request,  and  told  him  I  should  much  pre- 
fer he  intrusted  his  message  to  some  other  person. 
'When  you  learn  what  it  is,'  he  replied,  '  you  may  be 
more  willing  to  be  the  bearer  of  it.  I  want  you  to 
say  to  Bessie  that  I  am  going  far  away,  and  may  not 
be  able  to  bid  her  farewell.  I  want  you  to  pay  what 
I  owe  Mrs.  Bright,  with  enough  to  cover  a  month's 


MY  BROTHER'S  KEEPER.  207 

notice,  and  send  me  the  receipt.'  And  this  is  the 
message  I  bring."  . 

There  was  a  good  deal  of  womanly  courage  in  the 
breast  of  this  young  girl,  and  even  as  she  heard  what 
seemed  like  her  death-knell,  she  did  not  forget  to 
launch  back  at  him  an  arrow  of  her  own. 

"I  fear,  Mr.  Morley,  that  you  could  not  have 
brought  news  more  agreeable  to  yourself.  And  lam 
not  sure  but  the  decision  which  you  report  was  in- 
fluenced  in  no  small  measure  by  your  own  advice." 

"You  are  much  in  error,"  he  answered,  mildly, 
"  at  least  as  to  the  latter  intimation.  If  you  knew 
my  brother  better  you  would  understand  that  noth- 
ing would  give  him  more  pleasure  than  to  go  exactly 
contrary  to  my  suggestions." 

Bessie  could  not  help  asking  at  what  time  Mr. 
Morley  had  seen  his  brother.  She  could  hardly 
believe  that  Frank  had  come  to  visit  her  after  taking 
this  resolve. 

"I  said  'yesterday,'"  he  corrected,  "  but  to  be 
strictly  accurate  it  was  to-day.  Our  business  was 
finished  in  the  afternoon,  and  I  supposed  he  had  left 
the  city,  but  at  some  hour  in  the  night — two  or  three 
o'clock,  I  should  judge — he  came  to  my  room  and 
awoke  me.  Something  had  happened  to  excite  and 
make  him  nervous.  'You  go  to  Col.  Fuller's  some- 
times ?'  he  asked.  'Yes.'  '  Do  you  think  you  shall 
go  there  to-day  ?'  *  Probably  this  evening.'  '  Would 
you  do  me  the  favor  to  ask  for  Miss  Bright  and  tell 
her  that  I  am  going  far  away,  and  shall  give  up  my 
room  ?  Pay  what  is  due,  with  a  month  in  advance, 
and  tell  Bessie  I  may  not  be  able  to  say  farewell  to 
her.*  I  asked  him  no  questions,  but  promised  as 
requested.  You  have  the  entire  conversation,'* 


208  AN   ORIGINAL   SINNEK. 

Bessie  wished  to  close  the  interview.  She  wanted 
to  be  alone  where  she  could  relieve  her  overcharged 
feelings  in  tears.  The  cruelty  of  this  sudden  deser- 
tion was  more  then  she  could  bear  without  some 
such  demonstration,  and  she  did  not  want  this  heart- 
less brother  of  her  lost  one  to  know  the  extent  of 
her  sorrow.  She  rose,  as  if  to  permit  him  to  leave. 

"  Listen  to  me  a  moment,  little  girl,"  said  the 
grave  voice  of  the  man  at  her  side,  and  she  thought 
it  had  suddenly  become  surcharged  with  a  new 
melody.  "  Your  heart  is  sad,  but  believe  me,  this 
should  be  the  brightest  hour  of  your  life.  As  long 
as  Frank  Morley  lives  he  will  be  a  menace  to  the 
tranquility  of  women.  Beneath  an  attractive  exterior 
he  hides  a  capacity  for  evil  incredible  to  one  who 
does  not  know  the  truth.  I  would  not  say  these 
things  of  him  if  I  could  do  otherwise.  He  is  blood 
of  my  blood  and  flesh  of  my  flesh.  And  I  tell  you, 
when  you  thank  God  for  especial  blessings,  count  it 
his  greatest  that  he  has  led  that  man  out  of  your  life 
and  will  never  suffer  him  to  return." 

He  was  gone.  He  had  ascended  the  stairway. 
She  heard  him  knock  on  the  door  of  the  Fullers' 
apartment.  She  heard  the  door  open  and  close. 
She  was  utterly  desolate.  The  man  she  had  loved — 
that  she  still  loved,  in  spite  of  his  faults — had  gone 
his  way,  without  even  the  consolation  of  a  parting 
word.  How  her  heart  rebelled  at  the  harsh  verdict 
his  brother  had  rendered  ?  She  knew  why  Frank 
had  gone.  He  was  overcome  with  shame  at  the 
remembrance  of  his  actions.  He  could  not  bear  to 
face  her  again,  after  what  his  passion  had  led  him  to 
disclose  of  his  wild  nature. 

Yet  this  was  not  the  conduct  of  a  thoroughly  bad 


MY  BBOTHER'S  KEEPEB.  209 

man.  Had  he  been  what  his  brother  charged  he 
would  have  returned  to  her,  and  waited  a  better 
time  to  renew  his  overtures.  No,  he  was  not  all 
evil.  She  could  hear  his  voice  again  declaring  that 
there  was  a  God,  and  that  he  thanked  him  for 
averting  his  dreamed  of  sin.  She  wished  he  had 
left  an  intimation  of  his  future  place  of  abode,  that 
she  might  write  and  tell  him  how  fully  she  forgave. 

Poor  Bessie  !  She  would  have  journeyed  to  him, 
no  matter  what  distance  he  was  away,  and  let  him 
know  her  feelings  from  her  own  lips. 

Lettie  Fuller  had  seen  Clyde  Morley  sober  before, 
but  never  so  much  so  as  now.  For  some  minutes 
after  he  entered  her  parlor  he  spoke  only  in  mono- 
syllables, acting  as  if  the  air  of  the  place  oppressed 
him.  She  asked  him  finally  if  he  was  ill,  for  she 
could  account  for  his  strange  manner  in  no  other 
way. 

"  I — I  don't  know,"  was  his  reply.  "  I  am  hardly 
ill,  and  yet  I  am  not  well.  I  had  a  letter  this  morn- 
ing bringing  sad  news,  and  it  troubles  me  deeply." 

She  saw  that  he  intended  to  tell  her  more,  and 
waited  patiently. 

"  An  old  man,  a  dear  old  man,  who  has  been  more 
than  a  father  to  me,  is  at  the  point  of  death.  He 
wants  to  see  me  before  he  passes  away,  and  I  dread 
the  ordeal." 

Miss  Fuller  looked  puzzled,  but  still  she  held  her 
peace. 

"  It  is  not  a  long  story,"  he  went  on.  "  This  friend 
of  mine  is  a  minister  of  the  gospel.  I  was  left  when 
a  small  boy  in  his  charge.  He  decided  that  I  should 
be  educated  to  his  profession.  Under  his  tutelage  I 
was  prepared  for  college,  always  with  this  end  iq 


210  AN   ORIGINAL   SINNEB. 

viev,'.  When  I  graduated  I  entered  a  divinity  school. 
In  the  natural  course  of  things  I  should  now  be 
settled  over  some  parish.  Circumstances  have  made 
me  hesitate  to  enter  the  pulpit.  This  has  grieved 
my  dear  guardian  intensely.  He  fears  that  I  may 
ultimately  abandon  the  profession  altogether,  and 
before  he  dies  he  wishes  my  solemn  promise  to  enter 
upon  it." 

Lettie  waited  a  moment,  and  as  he  did  not  speak 
she  asked  if  this  clergyman  lived  very  far  from  Bos- 
ton. 

"  Only  a  few  hours'  ride." 

"  Why  do  you  not  go  to  him  ?" 

"  Because  I  am  not  ready  to  make  the  promise  he 
craves,  and  I  do  not  like  to  stand  by  his  dying-bed 
and  refuse  it." 

"  I  supposed,  papa  supposed,"  she  said,  "  that  you 
were  certain  to  be  a  minister.  We  did  not  imagine 
it  was  an  open  question.  Papa  dislikes  the  church 
so  much  he  has  had  to  strain  every  point  in  your 
favor,  and  the  fact  that  he  likes  you  so  well  in  spite 
of  it  is  much  to  your  credit." 

He  thanked  her  by  a  nod  and  asked  with  some 
interest  whether  she  shared  her  father's  opinions  in 
relation  to  the  church  in  general. 

"Why,  really,"  she  answered,  diffidently,  "I  know 
very  little  about  it.  I  never  was  inside  a  church  in 
my  life." 

"  Indeed  !  Then  you  cannot  have  a  very  clear 
idea  as  to  what  is  meant  by  the  profession  of  a 
clergyman." 

She  shook  her  head. 

"I  understand  they  preach    the  doctrines  of  their 


MY  BROTHER'S  KEEPER.  211 

denominations  every  Sunday,  and  sometimes  visit 
their  parishioners." 

"  Yes.  And  do  you  also  understand  that  they 
are  required  to  be  better  men — to  live  holier  lives — 
than  the  average  of  their  fellows  ?" 

No,  Lettie  did  not  know  that.  And  she  did  not 
look  as  if  the  fact  made  much  impression  upon  her. 

"  That  is  my  trouble,"  he  confessed,  looking  her 
full  in  the  eyes.  "  I  am  afraid  I  am  not  good  enough 
to  be  a  minister;  that  temptations  may  come  which 
I  cannot  withstand,  and  that  I  may  be  a  stumbling- 
block  to  others." 

These  technical  terms  only  combined  to  confuse 
the  girl's  brain.  He  was  talking  of  things  of  which 
she  knew  nothing. 

"It  is  unfortunate,"  she  said,  finally. 

"  It  is,"  he  replied.  "  And  just  at  present  it  makes 
it  very  hard  for  me." 

They  had  grown  so  pensive  upon  this  matter,  that 
he  turned  the  conversation  of  his  own  will  into 
another  channel,  by  referring  to  the  events  of  that 
evening  when  the  Colonel  had  called  her  out  of  her 
chamber. 

"  Pardon  me  for  saying  I  was  sorry  for  you,"  he 
said.  "  But  in  a  sense  he  was  right.  He  is  your 
father  and  can  command  you." 

"  He  has  no  right  to  insult  me  before  others,"  she 
said,  bridling  at  the  recollection. 

"  But  he  did  not  think.  You  are  to  him  but  the 
child  you  were  when  you  first  came  under  his  charge. 
He  does  not  notice  that  time  is  passing.  Then,  he 
is  of  the  army,  and  accustomed  to  unquestioning 
obedience." 


212  AN    ORIGINAL   SINNER. 

Lettie  had  picked  up  a  book  from  the  table  and 
was  turning  its  leaves  rapidly. 

"  You  may  call  me  very  bold,  Mr.  Morley,  but 
there  are  many  times  of  late  when  it  seems  as  if  I 
could  not  bear  these  things  much  longer.  I  have 
been  repressed  until  my  spirit  is  nearly  ready  to 
break  forth.*  When  it  comes  it  will  be  all  at  once, 
like  an  explosion." 

He  felt  a  sympathy  for  her.  Was  not  his  own  life 
like  that — always  on  the  verge  of  an  explosion  ?  He 
also  had  been  repressed  until  he  could  hardly 
endure  it. 

He  reached  over  and  took  her  hand  in  his  without 
thinking  what  he  was  doing. 

"  Lettie  !" 

She  looked  up  at  him  with  half-parted  lips. 

"Lettie,  I— I— think— " 

There  was  a  noise  on  the  stairs  and  landing.  A 
hurried  knock  at  the  door  cut  short  the  rest  of  his 
sentence.  Miss  Fuller,  much  chagrined  at  the  in- 
terruption, went  to  see  who  had  come,  and  found 
a  little  group,  of  which  Bessie,  Maggie  and  one  of 
the  lodgers  made  a  part. 

*'  Oh,  Lettie  !"  exclaimed  Bessie,  "  your  father  has 
been  taken  ill,  at  Jiis  club.  Some  men  are  bringing 
him  upstairs." 

Miss  Fuller  was  so  annoyed  that  she  could  hardly 
control  herself  enough  to  answer  with  politeness. 
But  Clyde  came  to  her  rescue,  and  began  to  move 
the  furniture  out  of  the  path  of  the  men  who  were 
bearing  the  helpless  form.  He  knew  which  the  Col- 
onel's room  was,  and  opened  the  door  that  led  into 
it,  and  the  sick  man  was  at  once  carried  there  and 
laid  on  the  bed. 


MY  BROTHER'S  KEEPER.  213 

"I  don't  know  exactly  what  they  call  it,"  said  one 
of  the  members  of  the  club,  who  had  come  along. 
"He  hasn't  been  quite  well  for  a  good  while.  He's 
half  full  of  lead,  you  know,  that  was  shot  into  him 
by  the  rebels.  Ah,  here's  the  doctor.  He  may  be 
able  to  explain  the  technical  points  better." 

Dr.  Brennan  did  not  stop,  howe/ver,  to  explain  any- 
thing. He  directed  the  men  who  had  carried  the  Col- 
onel to  remove  his  clothing  and  get  him  into  the  bed 
as  soon  as  possible.  The  patient  was  conscious,  but 
very  weak,  and  he  offered  no  comment  or  resistance 
to  anything  that  was  prescribed  by  the  physician,  an 
old  acquaintance  of  army  days.  In  fifteen  minutes 
the  doctor  came  out  of  the  bedroom  and  informed 
those  gathered  in  the  parlor  that  the  Colonel  was 
"comfortable,"  a  term  that  always  confuses  laymen 
in  such  cases,  for  it  is  usually  applied  when  the  party 
alluded  to  seems  very  uncomfortable  indeed. 

Mrs.  Bright's  experience  was  brought  into  play, 
and  she  undertook  the  task  of  receiving  and  carrying 
out  the  instructions  of  the  doctor.  Lettie,  who 
looked  slightly  dazed,  was  of  no  use  whatever,  and 
nobody  expected  much  of  her.  Bessie,  feeling  that 
sympathy  was  required,  put  her  arms  around  the 
girl's  waist,  but  Lettie  quietly  released  herself.  The 
principal  thought  in  her  mind  was  that  her  father 
had  added  a  new  grievance  to  the  too  long  list  she 
held  against  him.  He  might  have  selected  some 
other  moment  to  have  been  brought  home  in  this 
state,  than  the  one  she  had  longed  for  with  all  her 
soul. 

"  Lettie  !" 

It  was  Clyde  speaking  again,  as  they  stood  apart 
from  the  others.  He  had  called  her  by  the  familiar 


214  AN   ORIGINAL   SINNEB. 

name  once  more,  but  it  was  only  to  say  that  he  was 
going,  and  that  he  would  try  and  look  in  the  next 
day  to  see  if  he  could  be  of  any  service.  She  saw 
him  take  his  hat  and  leave  and  she  thought  her  head 
would  burst. 

"  I  came  very  near  saying  something  foolish,  I'm 
afraid,"  Clyde  remarked,  mentally,  as  he  took  his 
way  to  the  Parker  House. 


CHAPTER  XX 

OFF    FOR   ARCADIE. 

In  a  day  or  two  Wilkins  received  a  short  letter 
from  Frank  Morley,  dated  at  New  York,  asking  him 
to  say  to  the  boys  at  the  club  that  as  he  was  about 
to  remove  to  another  part  of  the  country — which  he 
did  not  specify — he  should  have  to  sever  his  mem- 
bership in  the  organization.  He  sent  a  money-order 
sufficient  to  pay  his  dues  for  six  months  in  advance, 
in  order  to  leave  with  the  books  square  in  his  favor, 
and  said  a  few  trite  things  about  regretting  circum- 
stances which  made  it  impossible  for  him  to  say 
good-bye  in  person.  There  was  no  allusion  to  the 
affair  at  Shawmut  avenue,  for  Frank  had  the  fullest 
confidence  that  he  need  say  nothing  to  keep  Wilkins 
from  divulging  that  secret.  Charlie  read  the  letter 
several  times,  to  make  sure  there  was  no  hidden 
meaning  anywhere  between  the  lines,  and  then  he 
gave  it  to  the  treasurer  of  the  club  along  with  the 
money-order,  and  considered  his  duty  ended  in  the 
matter. 


OFF  FOB   ARCADIE.  215 

Great  was  the  dismay  at  the  Revere  when  this 
news  was  disseminated.  Silas  Clarke  could  hardly 
be  persuaded  to  believe  it  genuine  at  first.  He 
thought  it  one  of  Morley's  jokes,  which  that  indi- 
vidual would  come  round  in  a  few  weeks  and  laugh 
over.  It  piqued  him  that  the  letter  should  have 
been  sent  to  Wilkins,  instead  of  to  himself.  He  did 
not  remember  that  Frank  and  Charlie  had  been  on 
any  specially  intimate  terms.  If  Frank  were  to 
write  to  any  one  a  genuine  letter  of  this  kind,  he 
said,  it  would  be  either  to  himself  or  to  Mark  Melton. 
On  the  whole,  Mark  was  the  person  most  likely  to 
have  been  made  the  confidant  of  such  a  decision. 
But  after  Clarke  had  expressed  this  opinion  freely 
for  an  hour  or  two  to  all  comers,  Melton  entered  the 
club,  and  put  an  end  to  speculation  by  announcing 
that  he  had  received  a  letter  of  similar  import  and 
that  he  had  no  doubt — much  to  his  regret — that  it 
was  genuine.  Mark  looked  soberer  than  usual  and 
his  opinion  was  soon  accepted  by  all,  even  the  young 
man  who  worked  in  the  High  street  leather  house. 

"Well,  that's  the  end  of  this  club!"  exclaimed 
Clarke,  when  he  could  doubt  no  longer.  "  It's  dul- 
ler than  the  devil  here  when  he's  away,  and  if  he's 
not  coming  back  we  might  as  well  close  up  shop." 

"  I  tell  you  what  we  could  do,"  suggested  another 
member,  with  an  inclination  to  humor.  "We  might 
get  that  brother  of  his  to  join  in  his  place." 

This  raised  a  slight  laugh,  but  Clarke  uttered  such 
a  groan  of  distress  that  the  levity  was  very  brief  in 
its  duration. 

"  Such  a  joke  ought  to  subject  its  author  to  expul- 
sion," he  protested.  "  For  heaven's  sake,  don't  let's 
hear  anything  more  of  that  kind  !" 


216  AN   ORIGINAL  8INNEB. 

Theu  rising,  he  motioned  to  Wilkins  to  follow  him, 
and  went  out  upon  the  street. 

"I  suppose  you've  got  ivo  idea  what  is  the  cause 
of  this,"  he  said,  watching  his  companion  narrowly. 

Charlie  replied  by  a  shake  of  his  head. 

"  Well,  there's  no  need  of  your  staying  at  that 
house  now,  as  I  see.  If  Frank  has  abandoned  the 
field  it's  not  our  business  to  interest  ourselves  for 
him.  Confound  it  !  I  wish  I  understood  what  he 
is  up  to  !" 

Charlie  did  not  say  much  at  first.  He  was  thinking 
that  he  did  not  want  to  leave  Shawmut  avenue  just 
yet.  The  blue  eyes  of  his  chambermaid  had  been 
having  an  entrancing  effect  upon  him  of  late.  Ig- 
norant and  unsophisticated  as  Maggie  was,  he  had 
found  a  charm  about  her  that  captured  his  sus- 
ceptible imagination.  He  wondered  if  Clarke  would 
find  any  fault  with  this  entanglement,  and  thinking 
it  best  to  put  a  brave  front  on  the  matter,  he  finally 
revealed  his  dilemma. 

"I  don't  want  to  leave  just  yet, de-ar  boy,"  he 
stammered.  "There's  some-body  the-re  that  I  find 
vewy  inter-westing." 

Clarke  started  and  assumed  a  severe  expression. 

"A  woman,  I'll  wager  a  dollar  !"  he  exclaimed. 

Wilkins  admitted  the  correctness  of  the  diagnosis. 

"  Nat-uwally,"  he  said. 

"  What  the  devil  have  you  struck  now  ?" 

Always  awed  when  Silas  spoke  in  that  tone,  Char- 
lie manfully  stood  his  ground  and  began  to  expatiate 
with  considerable  vehemence  on  the  personal  charms 
of  Miss  Maggie  O'Donaghue. 

"  Such  a  fawm  as  you  nev-er  saw,  de-ar  boy  ! 
Eyes  like — like  the  sky,  you  know !  Teeth  as 


OFF   FOB   ARCADIE.  217 

wegular  as  if  they  were  bou-ght  in  the  sto-re,  'pon 
honah  !  She's  a  weal  beauty,  perfectly  entwanc- 
ing  !" 

Silas  eyed  him  with  a  look  of  dejection. 

"And  her  name  is  Maggie  O'Donaghue  !"  he 
cried,  drawing  a  discouraged  breath. 

Charlie  said  it  was. 

"  And  you  are  trying  to  think  yourself  in  love 
with  her  !" 

Charlie,  a  little  frightened  at  the  ferocity  of  his 
friend's  manner,  asked  what  there  was  in  the  case  to 
make  it  so  very  terrible. 

"Oh,  this  fellow  !"  cried  Clarke,  apostrophizing 
the  trees  on  the  Common,  under  which  the  pair 
were  now  walking.  "  Is  there  any  hope  for  him  ? 
Shall  I  save  him  once  more,  or  shall  I  let  him  go  to 
the  dogs  and  have  done  with  it  ?" 

More  and  more  alarmed,  Wilkins  begged  an 
explanation. 

"Irish!"  cried  Clarke,  desperately.  "Irish  as 
Mrs.  Murphy's  pig  !  Do  you  know  nothing  of  the 
laws  of  heredity  as  applied  to  a  case  like  this? 
Pretty  form  !  Blue  eyes  !  What  a  narrow  view  to 
take  of  one  of  the  most  awful  responsibilities  of 
life  !" 

Reduced  now  to  a  trembling  condition,  Wilkins 
inquired  humbly  if  his  friend  would  kindly  tell  him 
the  worst. 

"  I  will,"  replied  Silas,  after  pausing  for  considera- 
tion. "  I  will — this  time.  But  if  it  occurs  again 
you  must  go  to  some  one  beside  me.  Now  let  us 
imagine  that  you  marry  this  Maggie.  She  will  have 
seventeen  children,  to  begin  with  !" 

"Gwa-cious!"    was     Charlie's     response.      "  You 


218  AN   ORIGINAL   SINNER. 

don't  m-mean  she  will  have  them  a-all  to  be-gin 
with,  de-ar  boy  !" 

"To  begin  with  !"  repeated  Clarke,  solemnly. 
"  Eleven  of  them  will  be  boys.  Before  one  of  those 
lads  is  ten  years  old  he  will  be  renowned  in  the 
neighborhood  as  a  pugilist.  By  the  time  he  is 
fifteen  he  will  have  knocked  out  his  father  accord- 
ing to  the  Queensberry  rules,  from  which  you  will 
have  no  right  to  appeal." 

"Dwead-ful!"  came  in  shivering  accents  from 
Wilkins'  pale  lips. 

"The  other  six  children  that  this  woman  will  bear 
you — to  begin  with,  remember  ! — will  probably  be 
girls.  I  do  not  know  positively  that  this  will  be  so, 
but  it  is  my  opinion.  They  will  have  beauty,  of 
course,  because  they  are  Irish,  but  their  brogue  will 
be  of  a  kind  you  can  cut  with  a  knife.  They  will 
marry,  each  of  them,  men  with  an  O  and  an  apos- 
trophe in  front  of  their  surnames,  and  they  will  visit 
you  at  Christmas  with  nineteen  kids  apiece  !" 

Charlie  took  in  the  full  terror  of  the  picture  and 
murmured,  "  Oh-me-Gard  !" 

"  Now  go  ahead  and  marry  this  Miss  O'Donaghue," 
said  Clarke  savagely.  "  I  do  not  advise  you  to  the 
contrary.  But  when  your  grandchildren  come  home 
to  roost — like  chickens — remember  that  I  t-o-l-d 
y-o-u!" 

He  left  the  young  man  abruptly,  and  Wilkins 
walked  in  a  very  despondent  mood  to  Shawmut 
avenue.  With  the  fickleness  that  characterized  his 
feelings  toward  the  opposite  sex  he  had  come  to 
have  a  great  affection  for  Maggie.  There  was  noth- 
ing for  it  now  but  to  leave  the  house.  He  had  been 


OFF   FOE   ARCADIE.  219 

criticising  Frank  Morley  rather  severely  in  his 
thoughts  for  going  away  so  quietly,  but  he  thought 
he  would  have  to  do  the  same.  He  knew  he  had 
made  an  impression  on  Maggie,  and  he  could  not  face 
her  astonished  looks  when  she  learned  of  his  inten- 
tion to  vacate.  As  he  blundered  along  the  sidewalk, 
heedless  of  the  passers,  he  ran  into  a  pedestrian,  and 
as  he  raised  his  hat  to  make  an  apology,  he  saw  that 
it  was  none  other  than  Clyde  Morley. 

"I  beg  your  paw-don!"  said  Charlie,  much  con- 
fused at  the  discovery.  "  I  was  vewy  careless,  bah 
Jove  !" 

"Don't  mention  it,"  was  the  polite  reply.  "I  think 
I  have  had  the  pleasure  of  seeing  you  before.  Are 
you  not  a  member  of  the  Revere  Club?  Yes,  I 
thought  so.  I  was  there  once  in  company  of  Mr. 
Melton — Mr.  Mark  Melton." 

"  Ya-as,"  responded  Wilkins,  more  confused  than 
ever  at  the  recognition.  It  seemed  to  him  as  if  this 
man  knew  that  he  had  been  watching  him  for  the 
past  fortnight.  "I  we-member  vewy  well.  You  are 
— aw — Mr.  Morley." 

Mr.  Morley  admitted  the  correctness  of  the  state- 
ment with  a  courteous  bow.  As  they  were  now  at 
the  house  of  Mrs.  Bright,  both  men  paused,  appar- 
ently to  finish  the  conversation  before  entering. 

"  I  am  going  to  call  on  Col.  Fuller,  who  lives  here," 
said  Morley.  "I  wonder  if  you  know  him.  He  was 
taken  ill  recently  at  his  club  and  brought  home." 

"Ya-as,"  replied  Wilkins,  "I  heard  of  it.  In  fact 
— aw — I  woom  in  the  house  myself,  you  know." 

Mr.  Morley  expressed  his  surprise. 

"  I  suppose  you   know  my  brother — my   brother 


220  AN   ORIGINAL  SINNEtt. 

Frank,  very  well,  then,"  he  suggested.  And  the  c/oud 
came  across  his  face. 

"Ya-as.     Oh,  ya-as  !" 

"  He  does  not  room  here  any  longer,  I  under- 
stand," pursued  Morley. 

"  No.     He  wrote  me  that  he  should  not  return  at 

i 

pwe-sent." 

Clyde  looked  much  interested. 

"  Did  he,  indeed  ?  And  did  he  say  anything  to 
indicate  why  he  departed  so  suddenly  ?" 

Charlie  replied  in  the  negative. 

"And — excuse  me,  I  am  his  brother,  you  remem- 
ber— have  you  no  idea  ?" 

The  penetrating  look  that  accompanied  the  inquiry 
brought  the  color  to  Charlie's  features. 

"  Not  the  slight-est,"  he  answered.  "  We  were  not 
what  you  call  in-timate,  you  know.  He  only  wote 
me  to  tell  the  bo-ys  at  the  Wevere." 

Finding  that  there  was  nothing  to  be  learned  in 
this  quarter,  Mr.  Morley  rang  the  bell,  while  Wilkins 
took  out  his  key  and  entered.  It  was  Maggie  who 
came  to  the  door,  and  Charlie  was  glad  to  escape 
from  her  while  her  attention  was  attracted  to  the 
caller. 

"  Can  you  tell  me  how  the  Colonel  is  this  morn« 
ing?"  asked  Clyde  of  the  girl. 

"Very  comfortable,  sir,"  she  answered.  "The 
doctor  was  here  an  hour  ago  and  said  he  was  doing 
well.  I  think,  jist  at  this  minute,  sir,  he's  aslape." 

Clyde  took  a  card  from  his  pocket  and  wrote  on 
it,  "I  called  to  inquire  about  your  father  and  am 
glad  to  learn  he  is  no  worse.  Shall  be  out  of  the 
city  for  a  few  days.  If  he  is  able  to  understand, 
please  tell  him  I  was  here." 


t(NO}    I   HAVE   NEVER   LOVED   YOU."  221 

Handing  this  to  Maggie  he  left  the  house  without 
going  upstairs.  Fifteen  minutes  walk  brought  him 
again  to  his  hotel,  where  he  packed  a  hand-bag  with 
a  few  articles,  and  telling  the  clerk  he  would  be 
absent  a  night  or  two,  he  started,  again  on  foot,  for 
one  of  the  northern  depots. 


CHAPTER  XXI. 

"  NO,  I  HAVE  NEVER  LOVED  YOU." 

Morley  never  rode  if  he  could  help  it.  Walking 
seemed  to  subdue  the  growing  fever  in  his  veins 
better  than  any  other  form  of  exercise.  There  were 
few  days  that  he  did  not  cover  at  least  a  dozen 
miles,  and  sometimes  he  walked  twenty,  going  far 
out  into  the  suburbs,  and  wandering  through  by- 
paths and  lonely  wooded  roads. 

That  night  the  train  that  came  nearest  to  the  village 
of  Arcadie  left  him  at  the  station.  There  were  four 
miles  yet  to  cover,  but  he  rejected  with  impatience 
the  offer  of  a  local  hackman  to  take  him  over  for  a 
dollar  and  a  half.  Even  a  reduction  of  the  tariff  to  a 
dollar  only  brought  back  a  shake  of  the  head  from 
the  moving  figure,  already  a  dozen  rods  on  its  way. 
Clyde  walked  with  long,  quick  strides,  using  arms 
as  well  as  legs,  and  few  professional  pedestrians 
could  have  passed  him  on  that  journey.  When  the 
lights  of  the  hamlet  hove  in  sight  he  was  sorry  that 
there  was  not  yet  a  few  more  miles  of  walking  before 
he  reached  it. 


222  AN   ORIGINAL   SINNEE. 

"There's  his  house,"  he  whispered,  looking  across 
the  fields.  "  There  is  the  roof  under  which  he  taught 
me  what  my  duty  was,  and  forget  to  tell  me  what  to 
do  with  this  torrent,  this  avalanche  that  threatens  at 
all  seasons  to  engulf  me.  Dear  old  man  !  I  don't 
suppose  he  even  had  a  thought  that  ought  to  have 
been  strangled  since  the  hour  of  his  birth  !  I  wish  I 
could  escape  seeing  him  again.  It  is  going  to  be 
painful  to  both  of  us.  Of  course,  I  must  not  tell 
him  the  whole  truth.  That  would  be  nothing  less 
than  cruelty.  But  if  he  asks  me  to  make  him  a  direct 
promise,  what  shall  I  do  then  ?  Shall  I  refuse,  and 
embitter  his  dying  moments  ;  or  shall  I  consent  and 
break  it  as  soon  as  he  is  in  his  grave  ?  Here  is  a 
place  at  which  the  most  conscientious  might  well 
hesitate.  Ah,  well !  I  cannot  say  what  I  shall  do 
until  the  moment.  I  never  can  tell  in  advance  what 
is  coming.  I  will  go  to  his  bedside  and  do  the  best 
I  can  under  the  circumstances." 

The  woman  who  had  the  ordering  of  the  old  min- 
ister's household  looked  gratified  when  she  saw 
whose  face  had  brought  her  to  the  door. 

"  He  is  nearly  through  with  this  world,"  she  said, 
Wiping  away  a  tear,  as  she  sat  down  with  the  new- 
comer in  the  parlor.  "  He  has  not  been  able  to 
speak  for  some  hours,  but  he  can  still  understand 
what  is  said  to  him.  He  wrote  this  little  note  with 
the  last  strength  he  had,  and  asked  that  it  be  given 
to  you  as  soon  as  you  should  arrive." 

Clyde  took  the  note,  and  opened  the  envelope 
with  fingers  that  seemed  growing  numb.  He  antici- 
pated its  contents  and  he  dreaded  them. 

"  You  know  the  wish  that  lies  nearest  my  heart. 


"NO,    I    HAVE   NEVER   LOVED   YOU."  223 

If  I  am  unable  to  converse  with  you  when  you  come, 
you  will  know  what  I  hope  to  hear." 

The  penciling  was  scrawly,  and  bore  evidence  of 
having  been  written  with  great  effort.  Clyde  pulled 
himself  together  and  asked  if  he  could  see  the  Doc- 
tor at  once.  The  housekeeper  went  to  ascertain  and 
in  a  few  minutes  returned  with  the  information  that 
he  might  go  up. 

Never  in  his  life  had  such  emotion  overcome  him 
as  when  he  saw  the  wasted  form  of  his  friend,  pre- 
ceptor and  guardian  lying  on  that  bed.  Tears  he 
had  not  dreamed  of  shedding  flew  to  his  eyes.  He 
clasped  the  thin  hand  and  sat  down  by  the  couch 
unable  for  some  minutes  to  utter  a  word.  The  nurse, 
at  a  signal  from  the  housekeeper,  left  the  room  with 
her,  and  Clyde  was  left  alone  with  the  dying  man. 
When  he  was  able  to  raise  his  head  and  observe 
more  closely,  he  saw  that  the  ray  of  intelligence  in 
the  gaze  of  the  old  minister  was  clear,  though  faint. 
He  had  reached  the  point  he  expected  when  he 
penned  the  note.  He  could  not  speak,  but  his  power 
to  comprehend  remained.  He  knew  that  Clyde  had 
come,  and  he  wanted  more  than  anything  else,  in  the 
few  seconds  remaining  to  him,  to  know  that  his  ward 
would  enter  the  profession  which  he  had  marked  out 
for  him. 

"  I  have,  waited  so  long,"  began  Clyde,  tremu- 
lously, holding  up  the  note  to  show  that  he  had 
received  and  read  it,  "  because  I  wanted  to  make 
sure  of  my  fitness.  I  will  try  harder  than  ever  to 
feel  that  I  ought  to  begin  the  work  you  wish.  I  will 
try  very,  very  hard." 

There  was   a  perceptible  pressure   in  the  hand  he 


224:  AN   ORIGINAL   SINNES, 

held,  and  when  it  relaxed  Clyde  realized  that  a 
change  had  taken  place — a  change  of  which  he  did 
not  at  once  know  the  full  import.  He  summoned 
the  attendant,  who  found  that  the  feeble  spark  of 
life  had  fled.  The  old  clergyman  had  fought  Death 
off  till  he  could  hear  the  words  he  wanted,  and  then 
had  gone  peaceably  to  his  reward. 

After  the  funeral,  Clyde  returned  to  Boston  and 
made  arrangements  for  leaving  the  city.  He  learned 
that  Col.  Fuller  had  partially  recovered  from  his 
attack  and  was  considered  in  no  danger  of  an  imme- 
diate return  of  it.  He  wanted  to  see  Lettie  and  say 
something  kind  to  her,  but  he  did  not  dare  put  him- 
self  under  the  power  of  her  presence.  The  promise 
he  had  made  to  Dr.  Welsh  must  be  carried  out  at  alt 
hazards.  He  could  not  be  fairly  said  to  have  "tried  " 
if  he  went  back  to  the  one  who  was  the  greatest 
danger  in  his  path.  He  wrote  a  letter  to  Melton  and 
another  to  Miss  Fuller,  and  he  thought  as  he  mailed 
them  how  much  he  was  getting  to  be  like  that  twin 
brother  he  had  so  denounced.  There  was  a  coward- 
ice in  both  of  them  that  was  wonderfully  similar. 
Clyde  had  the  better  reason  for  the  course  he  was 
pursuing,  but  the  methods  used  were  identical. 
The  letter  to  Melton  was  not  of  sufficient  importance 
to  be  given  here.  The  one  to  Lettie  was  as  follows  : 

"  Dear  Miss  Fuller :  The  one  of  whom  I  told 
you — my  friend  and  former  guardian — has  departed 
this  life.  Just  before  his  spirit  took  flight  I  promised 
him  to  try  as  hard  as  I  could  to  devote  what  talents  I 
possess  to  the  profession  for  which  he  intended  me.  In 
order  to  keep  that  promise  I  must  forget  all  other  ties, 
bury  all  other  hopes  that  have  ever  crept  into  my 


"  NO,    I   HAVE   NEVER   LOVED   YOU."  225 

heart.     I  am  going  to  the  West,  and  doubt  if  I  shall 
return. 

"Miss  Fuller,  one  whom  I  know  and  esteem  enter- 
tains the  hope  that  you  will  some  day  become  his 
wife.  Pardon  me  for  saying  that  I  trust  this  union 
will  be  consummated,  and  that  you  both  will  be 
happy.  If  I  am  not  too  presumptuous,  let  me  add 
that  long  delays  are  never  advisable  in  such  matters. 
Give  my  regards  to  your  father  and  tell  him  I  shall 
earnestly  hope  for  his  speedy  recovery 
"Your  Friend, 

"  CLYDE  MORLEY." 

Like  a  blow  on  the  head  from  a  heavy  bludgeon 
was  this  letter  to  its  recipient.  For  a  long  time  it 
stunned  more  than  it  pained  her.  When  she  came 
to  herself  a  little  she  found  that  some  of  her  nerves 
seemed  to  have  undergone  a  partial  paralysis.  A 
reckless  spirit,  a  devil-may-care  vein  permeated  her. 
She  had  thought  so  much  of  this  man,  had  placed 
so  much  of  her  hopes  for  the  future  on  him,  there 
was  nothing  but  a  blank  remaining  now  that  he  was 
out  of  the  picture.  She  was  compelled  to  conceal 
the  distress  she  felt,  for  there  was  no  one  to  under- 
stand what  ailed  her.  And  when  Mark  Melton  took 
courage  one  evening  to  hint  at  what  he  desired  she 
surprised  him  by  an  answer  that  he  had  feared  it 
would  take  a  long  time  to  win. 

"Yes,  I  will  marry  you,"  she  said,  as  if  she  were 
talking  in  her  sleep. 

"My  darling  !"  he  cried,  attempting  to  embrace 
her.  "  Then  you  have  loved  me  all  the  time  ?" 

She  drew  away  from  him,  refusing  the  contact 
with  his  arms. 


AN   ORIGINAL   SINNER. 

"  No.  I  have  not  loved  you,  and  I  do  not  now. 
I  have  heard  that  love  and  marriage  are  not  neces- 
sary adjuncts.  I  will  marry  you,  if  you  wish,  but 
with  a  definite  understanding  that  you  shall  wait 
for  my  love  to  grow,  no  matter  how  long  it  may 
take." 

He  had  a  momentary  look  of  disappointment,  but 
his  face  cleared  again.  He  thought  this  a  mere  freak 
on  the  part  of  an  inexperienced  girl,  that  would  dis- 
appear soon  enough  in  the  sunshine  of  her  wedding 
morning. 

"  I  accept  you  on  those  terms,"  he  replied.  "  And 
now  for  a  kiss  to  bind  the  bargain." 

"Oh,  I  can't  give  you  that  yet  !"  she  cried,  with  a 
little  sensation  of  terror.  "  You  will  have  to  wait 
for — for  everything,  till  I  change  my  feelings.  I 
want  to  be  perfectly  honest  with  you.  I  cannot  live 
much  longer  with  papa — things  have  grown  disa- 
greeable of  late  till  I  can't  bear  them.  You  must 
think  of  it  awhile — whether  you  really  want  to  take 
me — for  I  don't  know  as  I  ever  should  learn  to  love 
you  like — like  a  wife."  Her  voice  sank  so  low 
that  he  could  hardly  hear  the  last  word.  "  Per- 
haps, when  you  have  considered  it  fully,  you  will 
see  that  it  is  best  we  should  part  now,  and  I  don't 
want  you  to  make  any  mistake." 

But,  sinister  as  this  sounded,  Melton  was  too  fond 
a  lover  to  let  it  change  his  purpose.  No,  he  told 
her,  he  should  need  no  time  for  consideration.  He 
would  marry  her  as  early  as  she  would  set  the  day, 
the  earlier  the  better  ;  he  would  take  her  to  his 
home,  where  she  should  be  her  own  mistress  in 
everything  ;  his  only  care  would  be  to  make  her 
happy.  Then  he  referred  to  her  father,  saying  he 


"GOOD-NIGHT,  MY  WIFE."  227 

feared  there  would  be  his  chief  trouble,  and  the  Col- 
onel would  think  a  very  long  delay  advisable. 

"I  shall  not  depend  on  his  consent,"  replied  the 
girl,  in  a  cold  tone.  "  I  am  now  of  age  and  have  a 
right  to  marry  if  I  wish.  But,  there  is  one  thing 
more.  I  cannot  live  in  Boston.  We  must  remove 
to  some  other  city." 

Mark  had  already  thought  of  trying  New  York 
and  when  he  suggested  that  city  the  girl  said  it 
would  suit  her  as  well  as  any  other.  Quite  over- 
joyed, it  was  not  so  hard  to  break  the  news  to  Col. 
Fuller  as  he  had  feared.  Lettie  stood  by  his  side  as 
he  imparted  the  information  to  the  father  of  his 
betrothed. 

"  Two  children  !  That  is  what  you  are  !"  was  the 
angry  exclamation  of  the  ex-officer.  "  You  are  mad 
to  think  of  such  a  thing  for  ten  years  yet  !" 

But,  though  he  raved  for  days,  the  wedding  pre- 
parations were  quietly  begun.  And  Mark's  only 
regret  during  the  next  month  was  that  he  did  not 
have  Frank  Morley  there  to  give  him  his  counsel  and 
advice. 


CHAPTER  XXII. 
"GOOD-NIGHT,  MY  WIFE." 

If  there  were  not  abundance  of  evidence  to  the 
contrary  it  would  seem  incredible  that  any  man 
would  be  willing  to  take  a  partner  for  life  on  such 
terms  as  Lettie  Fuller  offered  to  Mark  Melton-  The 


228  AN   ORIGINAL   SINNER. 

present  writer  never  pretended  to  comprehend  the 
peculiar  state  of  the  masculine  mind  which  is  willing 
to  enter  into  a  compact  of  that  duration,  with  a 
woman  who  does  not  pretend  the  slightest  affection 
for  the  one  she  is  to  wed.  The  hope  and  belief  that 
time  will  bring  things  around  all  right — that  love 
will  grow  spontaneously  with  the  passage  of  years — 
seems  ingrained  in  such  natures  and  no  doubt  the 
result  is  sometimes  the  one  anticipated.  But,  on  the 
whole,  the  risk  is  no  light  one. 

Even  with  strong  love  at  the  beginning  of  the 
marriage  relation,  we  often  see  the  gradual  change 
which  turns  it  into  indifference,  if  not  dislike.  What, 
then,  is  the  prospect  where  no  love  is  felt  at  all  ?  Is 
there  anything  to  assure  the  husband  that  he  has  not 
taken  to  his  bosom  one  whose  fealty  he  has  no  right 
to  expect — one  who  may  at  any  time  repudiate  the 
hateful  bargain  she  has  foolishly  made.  And  if  there 
is  something  so  incredible  in  the  action  of  the  man, 
what  can  be  said  of  that  of  the  wife,  who  thus  ac- 
cepts the  most  sacred  obligations  given  to  a  human 
being,  without  even  the  excuse  of  some  poor  girl  she 
would  despise,  who  gives  her  all  to  the  lover  who 
has  won  her  heart  ? 

But  marriages  of  this  kind  happen  so  often  that 
they  almost  cease  to  attract  attention,  and  certainly 
do  not  lessen  the  public  estimation  of  those  who 
are  parties  to  them.  "  Do  you  suppose  she  loves 
him  ?"  is  a  common  question,  when  a  marriage  is 
under  discussion.  "  No,  but  she  esteems  him  and 
he  will  be  a  good  husband  for  her.  Everybody  says 
it  is  a  suitable  match." 

"  Everybody  "  says  a  good  many  things,  if  rumor 


"GOOD-NIGHT,  MY  WIFE."  229 

is  to  be  believed,  and  "Everybody"  has  a  good 
many  sins  to  answer  for. 

Melton  loved  Lettie  so  devoutly  that  the  mere 
thought  of  winning  her  nearly  turned  his  young 
head.  He  had  never  cared  for  another  girl.  For 
the  past  year  and  more  all  his  plans  for  life  had 
been  made  with  her  as  the  central  figure.  He  was 
not  very  well  acquainted  with  the  world  outside  his 
own  narrow  sphere.  It  was  the  nature  of  his  mind 
to  estimate  things  by  appearances.  He  had  watched 
the  idol  of  his  heart  going  about  in  her  little  apart- 
ment, obeying  without  question  each  desire  of  her 
father.  When  she  little  suspected  his  proximity, 
he  had  followed  her  upon  the  street  at  a  respectful 
distance  and  noted  the  propriety  of  her  conduct. 
It  was  not  to  spy  upon  her  that  he  had  done  this, 
but  because  he  was  fascinated  by  the  girl,  and 
wished  to  lose  no  opportunity  to  observe  her.  Now, 
that  she  had  promised  to  marry  him,  either  with  or 
without  the  consent  of  Col.  Fuller,  he  was  carried 
away  with  his  joy. 

Say  what  she  might  about  not  loving  him,  Mark 
reasoned  that  she  could  not  consider  him  distasteful. 
She  liked  him,  or  she  would  never  give  her  consent, 
and  love  would  come  later.  Oh,  yes,  it  would  certain- 
ly come,  for  he  would  do  everything  to  deserve  it,  and 
when  a  husband  deserved  his  wife's  love  it  must  be- 
come his!  So  thought  this  ignorant  young  man,  and 
his  happiness  grew  as  he  contemplated  his  prospects. 

Mark  did  not  want  the  marriage  to  take  place 
without  the  consent  of  the  Colonel,  if  if  was  possible 
to  obtain  it.  It  was  a  great  satisfaction  to  him  to 
reflect,  however,  that  the  refusal  of  that  gentleman 
was  no  longer  an  insuperable  obstacle.  As  Letti* 


280  AN   ORIGINAJL   SINNER. 

had  remarked,  she  was  now  of  age,  and  cculd  do  as 
she  pleased  in  such  an  important  matter.  After 
further  consultation  with  Miss  Fuller,  Mark  deter- 
mined to  talk  again  with  the  Colonel  about  it. 

Col.  Fuller  had  now  recovered  enough  to  sit  up  in 
a  chair,  but  he  was  still  confined  to  the  house,  and 
likelyto  be  for  some  time,  according  to  the  opinion 
of  his  physician.  Not  being  able  to  go  to  his  club, 
he  grew  very  irritable,  and  life  with  him  became 
almost  unbearable  for  his  daughter.  While  she  had 
quietly  determined  that  she  would  pursue  her  own 
course  hereafter,  she  was  in  no  haste  to  precipitate  a 
collision.  Her  separation  from  Clyde  Morley, 
capped  by  his  cruel  letter,  had  made  her  desperate, 
but  she  still  bided  her  time  before  letting  her  father 
know  the  state  of  her  mind.  Above  all  things  she 
did  not  wish  him  to  suspect  the  cause  of  her  changed 
feelings,  and  she  took  a  certain  pleasure  in  thinking 
that  the  constant  nagging  which  he  now  gave  her 
would  answer  as  a  sufficient  excuse  when  she  should 
decide  to  throw  off  her  submissive  attitude  and 
announce  her  new  declaration  of  independence. 

I  think  it  is  Dickens  who  speaks  of  an  ex-army 
officer,  somewhere  in  his  novels,  as  "a  retired  bull- 
dog on  half-pay."  No  better  description  can  be 
given  to  Col.  Horace  Fuller  during  those  weeks 
which  followed  his  collapse  in  the  club-house.  Noth- 
ing suited  him.  His  food  was  always  too  hot  or  too 
cold  ;  his  bed-room  was  either  too  stuffy  or  it  was 
full  of  draughts.  Lettie  was  the  slowest  attendant  a 
man  had  ever  known.  The  condition  of  the  Colonel's 
purse  did  not  justify  him,  he  thought,  in  keeping  the 
nurse  that  had  been  at  first  engaged,  beyond  a  fort- 
night. Lettie  had  nothing  else  to  do,  the  Colonel  told 


**  GOOD-NIGHT,   MY   "WIFE.**  231 

Dr.  Brennan,  and  it  would  be  a  good  thing  for  her 
to  have  a  little  exercise  besides  gadding  the  streets. 

The  girl  stood  by  when  this  brutal  expression  was 
used,  but  not  a  muscle  of  her  face  quivered.  Her 
father  had  degraded  her  once  before  the  man  she 
loved,  and  all  he  might  say  after  that  could  not  have 
the  least  effect  upon  her.  The  lead  that  remained 
in  the  officer's  body  seemed  to  irritate  him  terribly. 
He  formed  no  direct  resolve  to  be  ugly  to  his  child, 
but  she  happened  to  be  the  one  in  the  way,  and  every 
blow  descended  on  her  head.  He  was  entirely 
deceived  by  her  submissive  manner,  which  she  did 
not  change  in  any  degree,  and  as  time  passed  on  he 
grew  worse  and  worse. 

"Money  !"  he  exclaimed,  when  she  mentioned  one 
day  that  her  purse  was  empty.  "What  do  you  do 
with  so  much  money  ?  My  God,  girl,  I'm  not  a 
banker  !  You  have  been  altogether  too  extrava- 
gant, and  you  will  have  to  stop  it !  You  don't  need 
a  thing.  You  are  dressed  already  better  than  any 
other  girl  on  the  avenue.  No,  I  haven't  a  cent  to 
throw  away,  and  you  needn't  ask  me  again." 

Lettie  made  no  reply,  but  went  to  his  purse,  which 
was  kept  in  the  secretary,  and  took  out  what  she 
wanted.  He  always  told  her  to  go  to  it  when  the 
doctor,  or  the  apothecary,  or  the  laundress  or  the 
landlady  were  to  be  paid.  She  went  to  it  now  and 
took  a  hundred  dollars  ;  then  she  went  down  street 
and  spent  half  of  it  in  boots  and  hosiery,  and  the 
other  half  in  a  hat  and  some  handkerchiefs. 

Melton  came  quite  frequently  at  first,  thinking  it 
a  sort  of  duty  to  cheer  the  confinement  of  his  friend, 
but  the  Colonel  used  him  so  cavalierly  that  he  soon 
ceased  to  call.  When  three  or  four  days  passed 


232  AN   ORIGINAL  SINNER. 

without  him,  Col.  Fuller  began  to  complain  that  he 
was  deserted  by  every  one,  and  that  he  should  think 
a  young  man  who  aspired  to  the  position  of  his 
son-in-law  would  find  time  to  come  occasionally  and 
see  if  he  needed  anything.  Lettie  told  this  to  Mark, 
whom  she  used  to  meet  for  short  conferences  in  the 
parlor  below,  and  he  sprang  up  with  delight  and 
said  lie  would  go  up  at  once. 

"  Oh,  let  him  wait,"  said  Miss  Fuller,  darkly.  "  I( 
won't  hurt  him." 

The  next  day  and  the  next  the  Colonel  got  to 
harping  on  this  string  entirely.  He  told  Lettie  that 
he  had  promised  her  to  Mark,  but  that  he  should 
certainly  retract  the  promise  if  the  young  physician 
continued  to  absent  himself  from  the  house.  The 
girl  presented  an  immovable  countenance,  and  her 
father  could  not  tell  whether  the  announcement  was 
pleasing  to  her  or  otherwise.  In  the  irritable  con- 
dition in  which  he  now  was,  he  would  have  taken  any 
ground  that  he  thought  the  most  likely  to  be  dis- 
tasteful to  her. 

"  If  you  were  married,  there  would  be  some  one 
to  care  for  me,"  he  broke  out,  when  she  came  in 
from  a  few  minutes'  walk  in  the  open  air.  "  If  I  had 
a  son-in-law,  he  would  not  leave  me  hour  after  hour 
with  no  one  to  see  whether  I  lived  or  died.  If  that 
young  fellow  is  going  to  have  you,  we  might  as  well 
have  it  over.  And  if  he's  not,  the  sooner  we  know  it 
the  better.  There  are  other  men  as  good  as  he  in  the 
world.  By  George  !  Where's  that  parson  ?  With 
all  his  ministerial  notions,  I'd  give  more  for  him  than 
a  dozen  ordinary  fellows  !  Where  the  devil  do  you 
suppose  he  has  gone  ?  It's  strange  you  never  got  to 
caring  anything  for  him.  I  thought  at  one  time  you 


''GOOD-NIGHT,  MY  WIFE."  233 

would.  I  really  did.  It  seemed  to  me  that  he 
managed  to  get  here  a  good  many  evenings  before 
I  came  home  from  the  club.  I  honestly  thought  he 
was  getting  notions  into  his  head  about  you.  You 
could  have  held  him  if  you  had  known  enough. 
You'll  never  get  another  one  like  him,  if  you  live  a 
hundred  years." 

Lettie  bit  her  lips  with  pain  ;  but  she  said  noth- 
ing. 

"  I'm  going  to  send  for  Melton,"  continued  the 
Colonel.  "  If  I'm  to  be  sick  the  rest  of  my  life  I 
want  some  one  to  see  that  I  don't  starve  or  freeze  to 
death.  He's  not  much  of  a  man,  but  he'd  do  that. 
Maj.  Melton's  son  would  be  decent  with  his  father's 
old  commander.  I'm  going  to  send  for  him  and  ask 
him  if  he  wants  you,  and  if  he  does  I'm  going  to  tell 
him  he  must  take  you  now." 

As  Lettie  still  kept  silence,  the  Colonel  grew 
more  irritable,  and  finally  burst  forth — 

"  What  ails  you  ?     Can't  you  say  anything  ?" 

With   a   powerful  effort  the  girl  controlled  herself. 

"  What  do  you  wish  me  to  say  ?" 

"  I  wish  you  to  say  you'll  marry  him  !"  he  retorted, 
savagely. 

"  I  will  marry  him,"  she  replied,  quietly. 

"  And  as  soon  as  the  arrangements  can  be  made, 
too  !" 

"As  soon  as  the  arrangements  can  be  made." 

Col.  Fuller  was  not  at  all  pleased  to  find  her  so 
entirely  tractable.  In  the  state  of  his  disease  he 
wanted  someone  to  quarrel  with. 

*'  What's  the  matter  with  the  girl  !"  he  exclaimed, 
after  looking  hard  at  her.  "Is  she  a  parrot?  Do 
you  mean  to  tell  me  you  love  this  fellow,  after  all?" 


234  AN   ORIGINAL   SINNEK. 

She  returned  his  look  undaunted. 

"I  do  not,"  she  said. 

"You  do  not.'' 

"No." 

"But  you'll  marry  him,  just  the  same." 

"  I  have  said  so." 

"  What  the  devil  do  you  mean  !"  he  cried,  hotly. 

The  exclamation  jarred  on  her.  She  decided  to 
make  this  man  feel  something  of  the  sentiment  with 
which  he  had  of  late  inspired  her. 

"  /  mean,"  she  answered,  as  calmly  as  if  speaking 
the  most  ordinary  things,  "  that  I  am  going  to  marry 
Mr.  Melton,  and  within  a  few  weeks.  I  do  not  love 
him,  and  I  have  told  him  so.  He  accepts  me  as  I 
am.  I  mean  that  it  will  not  make  the  least  difference 
in  the  matter  whether  it  meets  your  approval  or  does 
not.  /  mean  that  before  a  month  has  passed  I  shall 
no  longer  be  where  you  can  address  such  words  to 
me  as  you  have  been  using  for  the  past  few  weeks." 

All  at  once,  and  so  quietly  that  he  hardly  knew 
what  had  happened,  Col.  Fuller  saw  the  fabric  he 
had  been  years  in  erecting  dissolve  before  his  eyes. 
This  girl,  who  had  obeyed  him  like  a  slave — or,  as 
he  would  have  said,  like  a  soldier — was  in  a  state  of 
rank  mutiny.  He  saw  also  that  he  was  helpless  to 
prevent  what  she  announced  her  intention  of  doing. 
He  knew  she  had  passed  her  twenty-first  birthday. 
There  was  a  determination  about  her  manner  quite 
out  of  accord  with  her  calm  expressions.  His  heart 
sank.  He  did  not  know  what  to  dread.  Was  he  to 
be  left  in  his  age  and  illness  to  the  tender  mercies  of 
strangers  and  servants  ? 

So  affected  was  he  by  the  discovery  that  he  had 
no  strength  to  reply  to  his  daughter's  assertions. 


"  GOOD-NIGHT,    MY    WIFE."  235 

He  turned  his  face  from  her  and  closed  his  eyec. 
His  thoughts  during  the  next  hour  was  of  a  most 
bitter  nature.  When  Lettie  brought  his  supper, 
which  she  did  exactly  as  usual,  he  refused  to  touch 
it.  After  it  had  remained  by  his  side  for  a  sufficient 
time,  she  removed  it  without  speaking.  The  dis- 
position to  complain  that  he  was  hungry  came  over 
him,  but  he  realized  that  the  time  for  this  sort  of 
thing  was  past.  Soon  after  he  heard  a  step  in  the 
room  and  looked  up  to  see  Mark  Melton. 

"  I  hope  you  are  better  this  evening,  sir,"  said 
Mark,  kindly. 

A  tear  trickled  down  the  old  man's  cheek. 

"  I  hear  that  you  are  going  to  take  my  daughter 
from  me,"  he  said,  tremulously. 

"  She  has  promised  to  marry  me,"  replied  Mark. 
"  We  shall  have  a  nice  home  in  New  York,  and  I 
certainly  hope  you  will  live  with  us." 

The  sight  he  was  witnessing  affected  him  strongly. 

"It  is  late  for  me  to  make  changes,"  said  the  Col- 
onel, shaking  his  head  dolefully.  "  Beside,  I  don't 
think  she  would  wish  me  to  go." 

Melton  walked  into  the  next  room  and  persuaded 
Lettie  to  come  with  him. 

"Tell  him  that  is  not  so,"  he  whispered.  "Tell 
him  we  shall  always  think  it  a  privilege  to  have 
him  at  our  home." 

There  was  no  responsive  expression  on  the  girl's 
countenance. 

"You  can  do  whatever  you  please  about  it,"  she 
said,  coldly. 

Mark  imagined  that  Lettie  hesitated  to  ask  him  to 
include  her  father  in  his  household,  from  feelings  of 
delicacy.  And  he  said  to  Col.  Fuller  with  evident 


236  AN    ORIGINAL   SINNER. 

earnestness  that  his  house  should  always  shelter  him, 
if  he  would  honor  it  with  his  presence.  But  the  Col- 
onel was  so  completely  prostrated  that  he  relapsed 
into  silence  and  did  not  seem  to  hear  what  was  said. 

"  Everything  is  nearly  ready  as  far  as  I  am  con- 
cerned," Mark  told  Lettie,  as  he  stood  with  her  at  the 
street-door  that  evening,  before  taking  his  departure. 
"I  have  engaged  the  flat  I  spoke  of  on  Forty-third 
street,  and  an  office  on  Sixth  avenue,  and  have  made 
arrangements  about  furniture.  I  wish  you  would  go 
with  me  to  see  to  some  of  the  things,  as  I  want 
everything  to  be  of  the  kind  you  prefer." 

"  No,"  said  Lettie,  impassively,  "  I  do  not  need  to 
see  them." 

"And  you  are  quite  sure,"  asked  Mark,  "  that  you 
wish  only  the  least  formal  ceremony  ?  I  thought 
girls  usually  like  to  show  their  orange  blossoms," 
he  added  with  an  attempt  at  raillery. 

"  I  am  quite  sure,"  she  said.  "  I  want  nothing  but 
a  perfectly  quiet  affair  with  nobody  there  except  what 
is  absolutely  necessary  to  cover  the  law." 

Mark  looked  up  inquiringly. 

"  You  will  want  Mrs.  Bright,  of  course,  and  Bessie." 

Lettie  reddened  unaccountably  at  the  mention  of 
those  names,  or  was  it  at  only  one  of  them  ? 

"  Neither.  If  witnesses  are  required,  get  someone 
else." 

"Why,"  he  exclaimed,  "I  did  not  know  you  felt 
that  way  toward  them  !" 

He  thought  she  might  explain,  but  she  did  not. 

"  I  wish  Frank  Morley  was  here,"  he  said,  present- 
ly, "  or  even  Clyde.  Say,  wouldn't  it  be  jolly  if 
Clyde,  who  is  probably  by  this  time  a  full-fledged 
•minister,  could  read  the  service  ?  It's  so  strange 


"GOOD-NIGHT,  MY  WIFE."  237 

those  two  brothers  should  have  left  this  part  of  the 
country  as  they  did,  without  leaving  their  address 
to  anybody.  It  doesn't  seem  a  bit  like  Frank,  who 
always  claimed  to  care  a  great  deal  for  me.  Clyde 
is  different.  !  shouldn't  be  surprised  at  anything  he 
did.  He's  a  sort  of  monomaniac  on  some  questions. 
Well,  perhaps  they'll  turn  up  after  a  while.  Maybe 
we'll  meet  them  in  New  York.  They  spend  a  good 
deal  of  time  there,  off  and  on." 

He  was  looking  at  the  passing  street-cars,  or  he 
might  have  noticed  the  peculiar  expression  of  her 
countenance.  She  was  thinking  how  "  awfully  jolly'* 
it  would  be  to  have  Clyde  Morley  read  the  service 
that  should  bind  her  to  this  man  whom  she  did  not 
love  ;  whom  he  had  advised  her  to  marry,  knowing 
she  did  not  love  !  Awfully,  awfully  jolly  that  would 
be! 

On  the  morning  when  the  ceremony  was  to  be 
performed,  Lettie  had  a  few  plain  words  with  her 
prospective  husband. 

"  It  is  not  too  late  for  you  to  retract  your  promise," 
she  said,  glancing  at  the  clock.  "  I  will  not  attempt 
to  influence  you  in  the  least.  When  you  asked  me 
to  marry  you,  I  told  you  frankly  and  honestly  that  I 
did  not  love  you.  I  do  not  love  you  now,  and  I 
doubt  if  I  ever  shall.  If  you  should  think  this  over 
once  more,  and  decide  to  go  your  way  and  let  me  go 
mine,  it  will  make  no  ill  feeling  on  my  part.  If,  on 
the  contrary,  you  wish  to  marry  me  as  I  am,  it  must 
be  with  the  understanding  that  you  may  have  to  wait 
a  long  time — perhaps  forever — before  I  can  give  you 
more  than  my  respect  and  esteem." 

He  was  distressed  that  she  should  again  allude  to 
the  subject,  and  at  such  a  time.  He  repeated  that 


238  AN   ORIGINAL   8INNOB. 

he  was  ready  to  take  her,  to  win  her  love  if  he  could, 
and  if  not  to  give  her,  as  long  as  he  lived,  his  truth 
and  loyalty.  If  anything  could  have  moved  her,  it 
would  have  been  this  proof  of  the  deep  affection  he 
bore  her,  but  she  was  callous  to  everything. 

It  was  arranged  that  the  Colonel  should  remain 
for  the  present  at  Mrs.  Bright's,  with  a  male  attend- 
ant,,who  had  been  specially  engaged.  Lettie  had 
stipulated  that  nothing  in  the  nature  of  a  wedding 
tour  should  be  taken,  that  she  should  go  directly 
with  Melton  to  the  apartment  he  had  furnished  at 
New  York  and  take  up  the  regular  order  of  keeping 
house.  When  they  reached  it,  he  showed  her  through 
the  rooms,  and  introduced  her  to  the  one  servant 
they  would  find  it  necessary  to  keep,  seeming  fearful 
lest  something  he  had  bought  should  prove  displeas- 
ing, but  she  made  no  comment. 

"  This  is  your  bedroom,  my  dear,"  he  said,  show- 
ing her  into  a  tastily  furnished  chamber.  "  Mine  is 
the  one  adjoining,  with  the  connecting  door.  A 
doctor  is  so  liable  to  be  called  up  in  the  night  that  I 
thought  it  would  be  a  pity  to  risk  disturbing  you." 

She  thanked  him  with  a  nod,  and  they  went  into 
the  parlor  to  spend  the  rest  of  the  evening.  At 
eleven  o'clock  he  laughingly  alluded  to  the  hour, 
saying  that  she  had  a  right  to  exceed  her  father's 
limits  now.  She  arose  and  walked  with  him  to  the 
chamber  he  had  designated  as  hers,  and  turned  on 
the  threshold  to  say  good-night.  The  action  was  a 
complete  dismissal.  He  looked  crestfallen,  but  gal- 
lantly lifted  one  of  her  hands  and  kissed  it. 

"  Good-night,  my  wife"  he  said,  meaningly.  And 
she  answered,  catching  her  breath,  "  Good-night,  my 
Ausband" 


ANOTHER  MAN'S  BRIDE.  239 

She  closed  the  door  softly  and  turned  the  key. 
Then  she  sank  upon  the  floor  and  clasped  her  hands 
together  till  the  nails  cut  into  her  flesh. 

"  What  have  I  done!  What  have  I  done!"  she 
moaned,  rocking  herself  wildly  to  and  fro. 


CHAPTER  XXIII. 

ANOTHER    MAN'S   BRIDE. 

Ten  weeks  had  passed  since  Clyde  Morley  left 
Boston.  He  had  started  on  his  Western  journey 
with  the  vision  of  good  Dr.  Welsh  before  his  eyes, 
and  the  strongest  determination  to  crush  out  the 
passion  that  had  grown  up  in  him  for  Lettie  Fuller. 
He  knew  that  this  love,  were  it  permitted  to  get  full 
sway,  would  make  it  impossible  to  devote  his  life  to 
the  cause  of  religion.  There  was  nothing  about  her 
dainty  figure,  her  doll-like  face  or  her  strangely  im- 
passive brain  to  help  him  on  the  road  he  had  prom- 
ised to  follow.  Everything  connected  with  her  led 
him  away  from  his  duty  as  he  conceived  it.  His 
only  course  was  to  flee  from  the  little  temptress  who, 
without  speaking  a  word  to  dissuade  him,  could  do 
more  in  holding  him  back  from  the  pulpit  than  a 
legion  of  ordinary  sirens. 

Though  Clyde  could  have  gone  to  the  proper 
authorities  and  obtained  a  license  to  preach  he  was 
not  quite  ready  yet  to  do  that.  He  felt  his  unworthi- 
ness  more  than  ever.  He  wanted  to  begin  as  he 
could  hold  out,  and  he  went  to  a  mission  at  Chicago, 


240  AN  ORIGINAL  SINNER. 

making  no  claims  of  a  theological  education,  but  only 
asking  that  he  might  be  set  to  work.  The  men  and 
women  on  the  mission  committee  received  him  doubt- 
fully at  first,  but  his  evident  earnestness  soon  im- 
pressed them.  He  was  sent  out  with  another  brother 
into  some  of  the  worst  places  in  the  city,  to  relieve 
distress  and  to  bring  comfort  to  the  sick  and  dying. 
AS  Clyde  always  drew  whatever  funds  he  needed 
from  his  own  purse,  and  never  asked  the  mission  to 
assist  him  in  any  way,  the  managers  came  to  con- 
sider him  a  valuable  assistant,  and  for  some  time  he 
found  relief  for  his  feelings  in  the  extreme  arduous- 
ness  of  the  work  assigned  him. 

The  mission  had  many  branches  and  one  of  its 
agents,  happening  to  come  to  Chicago  from  New 
York,  was  made  cognizant  of  the  value  of  the  work 
of  the  new  assistant.  A  consultation  was  held 
between  him  and  the  others  as  to  whether  such  work 
would  not  be  even  more  valuable  in  the  metropolis 
of  the  East  than  in  the  great  city  of  the  West,  and 
with  the  spirit  that  animates  the  true  missionary  it 
was  decided  that  if  Mr.  Morley  would  consent  to  go 
to  New  York  it  was  best  for  him  to  do  so.  Quite 
content,  Clyde  cheerfully  took  the  journey,  and  was 
assigned  to  one  of  the  hardest  localities  in  the  lower 
part  of  Manhattan  Island. 

Here  he  labored  diligently,  but  each  day  he 
managed  to  get  a  brief  respite  from  his  duties — a 
sort  of  breathing  spell,  as  it  were — and  was  in  the 
habit  of  riding  on  some  of  the  street-cars  as  far  as 
Central  Park,  where  he  could  take  a  walk  amid  the 
trees.  On  one  of  these  excursions  he  was  astonished 
to  see  on  the  sidewalk  the  familiar  form  of  Mark 
Melton. 


ANOTHER  MAN'S   BRIDE.  241 

His  first  idea  was  to  spring  from  the  car  and  ac- 
cost his  old  friend,  but  on  reflection  he  restrained 
himself.  He  did  not  care  to  enter  into  explanations 
as  to  the  cause  of  his  sudden  withdrawal  from  Bos- 
ton life  or  to  state  his  present  occupation  to  one  who 
would  hardly  be  likely  to  appreciate  his  reasons  for 
entering  upon  it.  It  occurred  to  him  that  Mark  had 
probably  just  come  over  to  New  York  for  a  day  on 
some  business,  and  would  be  gone  by  the  morrow. 
But  as  he  thought  of  these  things  he  saw  the  object 
of  his  reflections  turn  the  corner  of  Forty-third 
street,  and  a  curiosity  to  know  what  he  could  have 
to  do  in  that  residential  locality  took  possession  of 
the  watcher.  Clyde  left  the  car  and,  proceeding 
slowly,  saw  his  friend  stop  at  an  apartment-house, 
between  Seventh  and  Eighth  avenues,  to  open  the 
door  of  which  he  took  a  key  from  his  pocket  quite 
in  the  manner  of  one  who  enters  his  own  dwelling. 

"That's  mysterious  !"  exclaimed  Clyde  to  himself. 
"Is  it  possible  he  has  moved  here  ?" 

He  waited  long  enough  to  be  reasonably  certain 
that  Mark  had  left  the  vestibule,  and  then  sauntered 
across.  A  colored  janitor  was  upon  the  steps, 
engaged  in  polishing  the  brass  railings.  As  an 
excuse  for  his  questionings,  Clyde  inquired  whether 
there  were  any  suites  to  let  in  the  building,  and  was 
told  that  there  was  one,  up  two  flights  of  stairs, 
which  the  janitor  would  show  him  if  he  desired. 
Thinking  this  the  best  manner  of  finding  out  what 
he  wanted,  Clyde  said  he  would  look  at  the  rooms. 

"  How  many  familes  have  you  here  ?"  he  inquired, 
as  he  was  inspecting  the  premises  to  which  the  man 
led  him. 

"  Sixteen,  sir." 


24:2  AN  ORIGINAL   SINNER. 

"  And — what  sort  of  people  are  they  ?" 

Then  the  janitor,  after  the  manner  of  janitors  the 
world  over,  began  to  expatiate  on  the  particularly 
eligible  quality  of  his  tenants.  He  began  at  the 
ground-floor  to  name  them,  and  to  tell,  as  far  as  he 
was  able,  their  business. 

"Well,  sir,  on  the  lower  floor  there  is  Mr.  Young's 
family,  he's  an  insurance  man  down  in  Nassau  street; 
on  the  other  side  is  Mrs.  Lord,  she's  a  widow,  and 
most  respectable  ;  over  her  are  Dr.  Melton  and  his 
wife,  only  been  here  a  little  while,  but  the  nicest 
kind  of  folks  ;  then,  in  the  rear — " 

"That  is  sufficient,"  interrupted  Mr.  Morley,  sud«. 
denly.  "  I  will  think  of  the  matter  of  engaging  the 
flat  and  let  you  know.  Here  is  something  for  your 
trouble." 

Into  the  hand  of  the  astonished  janitor  he  slipped 
a  five-dollar  bill  and  hastened  into  the  street.  Sev- 
eral people  who  saw  him  between  the  house  and  the 
corner  of  the  avenue  suspected  that  the  well-dressed 
gentleman  had  been  drinking,  so  dizzily  did  he  walk. 
At  the  corner  he  accosted  the  driver  of  a  cab. 

"Into  the  park,"  he  said,  in  response  to  the  query 
where  he  wished  to  go.  "  Into  the  park.  Drive 
slowly  till  I  tell  you  again." 

Then  he  drew  down  the  curtains  and  gave  himself 
up  to  his  emotions. 

"  She  has  married  him  !"  he  muttered.  "  I  ought 
to  have  expected  it.  It  was  my  last  advice  to  her. 
But  to  suddenly  come  to  the  actual  knowledge — 
that  is  hard  !" 

He  sank  as  low  in  the  seat  he  occupied  as  the  con- 
tour of  the  carriage  would  permit,  and  buried  his 
face  in  his  hands. 


ANOTHER   MAN'S  BKIDE.  343 

"Married  !  Oh,  God  !"  he  groaned.  "  Married  ! 
And  they  are  living  here  in  New  York  !  I  may  meet 
them  together  at  any  hour  !  I  told  her  to  do  it,  but 
I  did  not  think  she  would.  I  thought  the  love  she 
seemed  to  have  for  me  would  have  lasted  a  little 
longer.  Ah  !  It  is  the  way  with  women  ;  when  one 
is  out  of  sight  he  is  forgotten.  Less  than  three 
months  and  she  is  married  !  Married  and  settled 
down  with  her  husband,  as  if  she  had  never  seen  or 
heard  of  me  !" 

He  shook  as  though  he  had  the  ague,  though  the 
November  day  was  warm  and  he  was  fully  clothed. 

"What  shall  I  do?"  he  continued,  trying  to  think. 
"  Shall  I  remain  in  the  city,  with  the  constant  risk 
of  seeing  them  at  unexpected  times  ?  Or  shall  I  go 
direct  to  them,  and  have  it  over  ?  It  will  take  a 
little  preparation  before  I  can  face  her,  in  the  new 
relation  she  has  assumed.  But  on  the  whole,  that 
will  be  the  better  way.  We  must  meet  sometime, 
and  it  is  best  to  arrange  it  when  I  can  best  bear  the 
shock." 

The  cab  reached  the  Park  and  the  driver  walked 
his  horses  slowly  among  the  winding  roads. 

Clyde  Morley's  dejection  was  complete.  All  at 
once  he  saw  the  full  extent  of  his  passion.  Could 
any  power  have  sent  him  back  three  months  in  his 
life,  no  promise  made  to  the  dying  clergyman,  no 
belief  in  the  duty  he  had  to  carry  the  Gospel  to  a 
lost  world,  would  have  prevented  his  marrying  this 
girl.  It  was  not  until  he  found  her  irretrievably  lost 
to  him  that  he  realized  the  extent  of  the  love  he  had 
for  her. 

Married  !  He  repeated  the  word  a  hundred  times 
as  if  it  were  some  fearful  spectre  that  would  not  be 


244  AN   ORIGINAL   SINNER. 

laid.  Married  !  He  thought  of  that  form  lying  in 
the  arms  of  another,  the  kisses  of  another  on  her 
lips,  the — oh,  it  was  unbearable  !  How  could  it  be 
accomplished  so  quickly?  Why  had  there  not  been 
some  way  to  warn  him,  that  he  might  have  flown, 
even  as  Melton  stood  with  her  at  the  altar,  and 
snatched  the  prize  from  his  hands  ? 

He  lifted  the  curtain  and  told  the  driver  to  take 
him  to  a  station  of  the  L  road  on  Third  avenue. 
Arriving  there  he  dismissed  the  cab  and  took  a  train 
to  his  lodgings,  which  he  had  located  in  the  poorer 
quarter,  in  order  to  be  nearer  his  work.  How  unin- 
teresting it  all  seemed  to  him  now  !  He  climbed  the 
staircase  and  entered  his  chamber  with  a  positive 
feeling  of  nausea  for  his  plain  surroundings. 

A  letter  lay  on  the  table,  sent  by  one  of  his  com- 
panions in  the  mission  work,  referring  to  certain 
details,  and  closing  with  the  words  :  "  And  now, 
my  dear  brother,  may  God  have  you  in  his  holy 
keeping." 

Bah  !     How  sickening  the  expression  seemed  ! 

"  God  will  never  have  me  in  hts  keeping  !"  he  cried, 
in  mental  agony.  "  He  never  has  had  me  in  it.  I 
have  been  all  my  life  in  the  power  of  the  Evil  One, 
and  my  struggles  to  escape  have  availed  me  nothing." 

He  sat  down  to  try  to  think  about  it — about  her. 
He  would  wait  a  week  or  so  before  he  called.  He 
would  need  that  length  of  time  to  get  the 
requisite  coolness.  Yes,  he  would  wait  a  week.  In 
the  meantime,  however,  he  must  make  some  excuse 
to  escape  the  mission  duties.  He  could  not  go  on 
with  them  in  the  way  he  felt.  He  must  plead  illness. 
He  looked  in  the  mirror  and  knew  that  no  one  would 
doubt  him  if  he  said  he  was  not  well.  Pale  as  he 


ANOTHER   MAN'S   BRIDE.  245 

had  always  been,  his  countenance  was  of  more  than 
ordinary  whiteness  to-day. 

An  hour  later  he  decided  that  he  would  not  wait 
a  week.  Three  or  four  days  would  suffice  to  get 
himself  into  shape.  He  would  not  be  such  a  coward. 
She  was  married,  and  he  must  make  the  best  of  it. 
All  that  was  necessary  was  a  formal  call.  There 
was  nothing  to  be  so  frightened  about.  Three  or 
four  days  was  quite  enough  to  wait.  Two  days 
even  ought  to  answer ;  say  the  day  after  to-morrow. 
The  sooner  it  was  over  the  better.  And  before 
another  hour,  he  had  decided  to  call  the  next  day, 
and  was  impatient  at  the  long  time  that  would 
elapse  before  the  sun  would  rise  to  usher  that  day 
in. 

He  did  not  try  to  sleep  that  night.  He  thought 
in  the  long  hours  of  darkness  of  what  he  would  say 
when  he  met  her,  just  how  he  would  carry  himself, 
what  words  he  would  use  to  conceal  from  her  how 
much  he  cared  for  what  had  happened.  For  it 
would  not  do  to  let  her  know — now  that  it  was  too 
late  to  find  a  remedy.  -""He  did  not  want  Melton  there 
the  first  time  he  called — that  might  prove  too  em- 
barrassing. One  of  them  at  a  time  was  quite  enough 
to  encounter.  Afterwards,  when  he  got  used  to  the 
changed  order  of  things — and  people  did  get  used  to 
everything,  almost — he  could  visit  them  together  and 
not  mind  it.  But  on  the  first  call  he  wanted  Mark  to  be 
out.  It  was  easy  to  take  up  a  position  near  the 
house  where  he  could  see  him  when  he  went  away  to 
his  office.  He  thought  it  all  over,  just  what  he  would 
say.  He  would  pretend  that  he  had  been  looking  for 
a  flat  for  a  friend  and  had  happened  to  hear  the 
name  of  Melton  mentioned  by  the  janitor,  and  had 


24:6  AN   ORIGINAL   SINNER. 

rung  the  bell  just  to  see  if  possibly  it  was  his  old  ac- 
quaintance. Oh,  it  was  simple  enough  !  He  grew 
elated  as  he  thought  how  very  simple  it  was,  and 
what  a  great  bugbear  he  had  been  making  of  it  all 
this  time. 

It  was  only  a  quarter  past  nine  when  Clyde  saw 
Melton  leave  the  house,  and  not  ten  minutes  later 
when  the  bell  to  his  apartment  was  sounded  and  the 
servant's  hand  withdrew  the  bolt  after  the  New  York 
method.  Clyde  was  half  inclined  to  run  away,  in- 
stead of  ascending  the  stairs,  but  he  summoned  all 
his  courage  and  went  up,  breathing  harder  as  he 
reached  the  landing  and  wondering  what  had  become 
of  his  resolutions.  The  servant,  a  pretty  young 
woman  of  German  birth,  stood  at  the  apartment- 
door.  In  response  to  his  request  to  see  Dr.  Melton 
she  stared  slightly,  as  she  said  that  gentleman  had 
gone  out.  This  was  the  first  visitor  they  had  had. 

"Then  I  will  see  Mrs.  Melton." 

"  Ees  it  Meesis  Melton  you  weesh  ?"  inquired  the 
woman,  surprised. 

"  Mrs.  Melton." 

He  thought  the  words  would  choke  him  the  first 
time  and  he  could  hardly  enunciate  them  again,  but 
he  managed  to  do  so.  The  woman  showed  him  into 
the  parlor,  and  asked  if  he  would  give  her  his  card. 
It  struck  him  that  if  he  sent  his  name,  Lettie  might 
refuse  to  see  him — he  did  not  know  why,  but  he 
thought  of  this — and  he  answered,  "  Tell  her  it  is  an 
old  acquaintance." 

Mrs.  Melton  had  not  yet  left  her  room  when  the 
message  was  brought,  though  she  was  quite  ready  to 
do  so.  It  was  her  habit  to  have  her  coffee  brought 
to  the  chamber,  and  she  never  appeared  until  after 


ANOTHER  MAW'S   BRIDE.  247 

Mark  had  gone  out.  She  was  dressed  in  a  tasty 
morning-gown,  and  her  hair  was  becomingly  ar- 
ranged in  a  half-girlish  fashion.  When  the  girl 
knocked  and  told  her  that  a  gentleman  was  waiting 
in  the  parlor  to  see  her,  she  could  hardly  believe  her 
cars. 

"  A  gentleman  !  And  did  he  not  give  you  a 
card  ?" 

The  girl  repeated  that  the  gentleman  had  said  he 
was  an  old  acquaintance,  and  Lettie  was  more  puz- 
zled than  ever.  She  thought  it  might  be  one  of  the 
veterans  that  her  father  had  sometimes  brought  to 
the  house  on  Shawmut  avenue.  It  must  be  some- 
one from  Boston,  and  someone  who  knew  the  Col- 
onel, for  she  had  no  other  acquaintances  who  could 
have  learned  her  address.  So  she  said,  "  Very  well, 
I  will  be  out  directly."  Then  she  took  another  look 
at  herself  in  the  glass,  and  walked  into  the  parlor. 

A  night  of  preparation  had  done  nothing  for  Clyde 
Morley,  so  far  as  making  it  any  easier  to  meet  her 
was  concerned.  He  stood  in  the  centre  of  the  room, 
too  nervous  to  remain  seated,  and  as  she  stepped 
across  the  threshold,  he  advanced  toward  her  with 
an  impetuous  stride.  His  eyes  were  aflame,  his 
hands  were  outstretched,  his  nostrils  dilated,  his  lips 
parted. 

"  Lettie  f"  he  cried,  in  a  hoarse  vrhisper. 

The  girl  staggered  and  leaned  against  the  door 
that  had  closed  behind  her.  She  saw  everything  at 
one  glance.  He  might  talk  to  her  for  months  and 
years  and  he  could  tell  her  nothing  more.  All  that 
he  could  have  said  was  mirrored  in  his  suffering 
face. 

"  I^ttie  /"  he  repeated.     And  they  stood  there  fac- 


248  AN   ORIGINAL   SINNER. 

ing  each  other,  with  ten  feet  of  space  still  between 
them. 

"  They  call  me  Mrs.  Melton  now,"  she  said,  slowly. 
"  Will  you  be  seated  ?" 

He  took  a  step  nearer,  and  she  seemed  to  shrink 
closer  to  the  wall  against  which  she  rested,  as  if  to 
keep  further  from  him. 

"I  know  your  name,"  he  said,  in  trembling  tones. 
"  I  know  it  too  well.  Forgive  me,  if  for  one  moment 
I  forgot,  and  called  you  by  another  that  I  once  had 
the  privilege  of  using." 

She  gained  strength  by  the  delay,  and  her  voice 
grew  a  little  firmer. 

"  Then  you  do,  sometimes,  forget  ?"  she  said,  iron- 
ically. "  You  have  occasional  lapses  of  memory  ? 
But  I  have  none.  I  remember  everything."  She 
paused  a  moment,  and  seeing  that  he  was  about  to 
break  out  again,  repeated,  "  Won't  you  sit  down  ?" 

He  was  near  a  sofa  and  he  fell  rather  than  sat 
upon  it.  Athlete  as  he  was,  something  had  sapped 
the  vigor  in  his  muscles  and  left  him  very  weak. 

"  I  am  sorry  my  husband  is  not  in,"  she  pursued, 
taking  a  chair  close  to  where  she  had  stood.  "  He 
would  be  glad  to  see  you.  We  did  not  know  you 
were  in  the  city." 

He  was  like  a  petrified  man.  How  could  she 
speak  to  him  in  that  way  ?  Her  husband  ! 

"  We  have  been  married  two  weeks,"  she  went  on. 
"  I  suppose  you  saw  it  in  the  papers.  We  came  here 
at  once.  I  was  tired  of  Boston.  Dr.  Melton's  office 
is  on  Sixth  avenue,  not  very  far  away.  He  will  return 
at  one  o'clock  to  lunch,  and  will  tell  you  everything. 
You  have  not  taken  off  your  outside  coat.  Is  it  not 
rather  warm  here?" 


ANOTHER   MAN7S    BRIDE.  249 

She  left  the  chair  she  occupied  and  went  to  one  of 
the  windows  to  open  it.  She  passed  close  to  him 
and  he  caught  his  breath  as  the  fragrance  of  a  per- 
fume she  used  came  to  his  nostrils.  The  air  from 
the  window  blew  on  his  forehead  gratefully.  But 
still  he  sat  there  rigid,  as  if  frozen. 

"It  is  a  pleasant  flat,  don't  you  think  so?"  said 
Mrs.  Melton,  glancing  around  the  room.  "  The 
location  is  very  good,  too,  for  what  we  could  afford 
to  pay.  Dr.  Melton  picked  out  all  the  furnishings. 
He  had  some  extra  things  put  in.  This  little 
bell-rope,  for  instance,  communicates  with  the  kitch- 
en, so  that  I  can  call  my  servant  at  any  time  with* 
out  rising  from  here.  There  are  similar  contri- 
vances in  every  one  of  our  eight  rooms.  It  is  very 
convenient." 

Why  did  she  give  him  that  hint?  What  did  he 
care  about  the  bells  ?  Did  she  think  he  intented  to 
strangle  her  ? 

"  My  father  has  been  quite  ill,"  continued  Mrs. 
Melton,  glad  that  she  could  keep  him  so  long  from 
speaking.  "  You  were  there — yes,  I  remember — 
when  he  was  brought  home.  He  has  never  fully 
recovered.  He  is  now  at  his  old  rooms,  under  the 
care  of  a  nurse,  but  he  will  be  taken  here  as  soon  as 
he  feels  able  to  travel." 

He  heard  her  and  said  nothing.  He  was  gradually 
coming  to  himself,  but  he  could  not  yet  enter  into 
the  conversation. 

"  Dr.  Melton  was  speaking  of  you  only  yesterday. 
He  wondered  why  we  heard  nothing  about  you — or 
your  brother.  Frank  was  a  great  friend  of  my  hus- 
band, and  he  feels  much  injured  because  he  has  never 
written  him  a  line.  One  of  the  first  things  you  will 


250  AN   ORIGINAL   SINNER. 

be  asked  when  he  comes  is  if  you  can  get  his 
address.  My  husband  has  found  it  rather  lonely 
here  in  New  York,  I  am  afraid.  When  my  father 
arrives  it  will  be  a  little  better  for  him,  as  they  will 
play  cribbage  together.  Business  is  not  coming 
very  fast,  I  think,  though  he  does  not  complain.  He 
did  not  expect  it  would  be  very  plenty  at  first." 

Clyde  staggered  to  his  feet.  He  wanted  to  get 
out  into  the  air.  Every  time  she  uttered  those  words, 
"  My  husband,"  it  was  like  striking  him  a  blow  on 
the  left  breast. 

"You  cannot  wait?"  said  Mrs.  Melton,  rising  also, 
and  much  relieved,  to  tell  the  truth,  at  the  prospect 
of  seeing  him  depart  so  quietly.  "When  will  you 
come  again  ?  I  am  sure  my  husband  will  be  very 
glad  to  see  you." 

He  tried  to  say  something,  tried  twice,  and  failed. 
Then  he  crept  toward  the  door,  and  went  through 
the  passageway  with  his  lips  moving.  He  was  pray- 
ing that  he  might  not  meet  Mark  Melton  ! 


CHAPTER  XXIV. 

A   CONFIDENTIAL  TALK. 

Mrs.  Melton  was  hardly  less  excited  over  this 
visit  than  Clyde,  though  she  mananged  to  conceal  her 
feelings  better.  She  said  nothing  to  her  husband 
about  it,  for  she  was  not  much  in  the  habit  of  telling 
him  things,  and  she  was  not  sure  it  would  be  best 


A    CONFIDENTIAL  TALK.  251 

tf  he  ever  came  to  know  it  in  any  other  way,  it 
would  do  no  harm.  She  was  not  called  upon  to 
explain  her  actions.  She  lived  under  the  same  roof 
with  Mark,  his  nominal  wife,  but  no  nearer  to  him 
than  on  the  first  day  she  entered  the  house.  He 
had  made  no  protest  against  the  peculiar  way  in 
which  she  was  carrying  out  the  oaths  she  had  taken. 
Besides  this,  he  had  assumed  the  work  of  a  brother 
practitioner  who  had  been  compelled  to  go  abroad 
for  his  health,  and  was  so  pleased  with  being  busy 
that  he  had  a  compensation,  in  some  degree,  for  the 
lack  of  cordiality  at  his  home. 

As  the  days  passed  Lettie  Melton  began  to  fear 
she  should  not  see  Clyde  again.  She  did  not  want 
to  torture  this  man,  who  had  undoubtedly  been 
punished  severely  already,  but  there  arose  in  her 
heart  the  old  longing  for  his  companionship — the 
old  love  for  the  old  lover,  that  even  her  marriage 
had  not  killed. 

She  had  no  intention  of  letting  him  know  the  con- 
dition of  her  mind,  should  he  ever  happen  to  come 
again.  She  meant  to  treat  him  merely  as  any  ac- 
quaintance of  her  ante-nuptial  days.  She  wanted 
very  much  to  see  him.  Her  life  was  wholly  empty 
now,  and  anything  that  savored  of  the  old  time 
would  be  more  than  welcome. 

Sitting  in  his  office  one  afternoon,  Dr.  Melton 
received  a  call  from  a  most  unexpected  person — Mr. 
Frank  Morley.  Delighted,  he  rose  and  grasped  the 
hands  of  the  young  man  in  both  his  own. 

"  My  dear  boy,"  he  exclaimed,  "  is  it  possible  this 
is  you  ?  Sit  down  and  tell  me,  for  heaven's  sake, 
where  you  have  kept  yourself  all  this  time,  and  why 
you  have  never  written  me  a  single  line." 


252  AN  ORIGINAL   SINNER. 

Frank  looked  ill  and  it  was  plain  that  he  had  lost 
in  weight.  He  took  the  proffered  chair  and  assumed 
an  easy  position,  after  his  old  manner. 

•'  Well,  Mark,"  he  answered,  "  you  know  it  is  on« 
of  my  habits  not  to  write  many  letters.  I  have  been 
travelling  over  the  country,  and  have  only  recently 
returned.  As  soon  as  I  heard  you  were  in  the  city  I 
took  the  pains  to  look  you  up." 

Mark  had  not  borne  so  cheerful  an  expression  for 
a  long  time,  as  he  did  at  these  words.  The  sight  of 
Frank  took  him  him  back  to  the  days  of  his  student 
life. 

"  I  won't  find  any  fault,  so  long  as  you  are  here 
now,"  he  said.  "  But,  you're  not  looking  well,  old 
fellow.  If  you  will  accept  the  advice  of  a  physician 
— and  I  sha'n't  charge  you  anything  for  it — you'll 
take  some  iron  without  delay.  How  odd  it  is  to  see 
you  here  !  What  a  lot  of  things  have  happened  since 
you  went  off  !  It's  only  a  few  months  and  yet  it 
seems  a  century." 

Frank  laughed,  not  quite  naturally,  but  Melton 
did  not  notice  that. 

"And  you've  been  married,  in  the  meantime,"  he 
said.  "  Of  course  a  few  weeks  of  wedded  bliss  is 
equal  to  a  century  of  ordinary  life." 

Melton's  face  sobered  preceptibly.  He  was  not  a 
good  hand  at  deception,  and  though  he  did  not  intend 
to  reveal  his  secret  troubles,  he  could  not  pretend  a 
greater  happiness  than  he  felt.  He  did  not  answer 
the  insinuation  directly,  but  replied  that  he  was  liv- 
ing only  a  short  distance  away,  and  would  be  glad 
to  have  Frank  go  home  with  him  to  dinner. 

"  I'll  go,  as  you  are  so  kind,"  said  Morley,  "though 
I  dread  that  sort  of  thing  ordinarily,  as  a  cat  drrads 


A   CONFIDENTIAL    TALK.  253 

water.  I  mean,"  he  explained,  "  that  matrimony  is 
so  wholly  unsuited  to  my  tastes  that  I  am  afraid  to 
get  into  very  close  contact  with  it  while  it  is  fresh. 
I  can't  imagine  how  you  two  will  seem  in  such  a  rela- 
tion as  that.  And  I  did  all  I  could  to  bring  it  about, 
didn't  I  ?  I  used  to  go  up  to  the  Colonel's  and  sing 
your  praises,  you  remember,  just  because  you  wanted 
me  to,  and  never  because  it  was  the  thing  I  would 
have  advised.  Where  is  the  old  gentleman  now  ? 
Here  with  you,  I  suppose." 

Melton  replied  that  Col.  Fuller  had  been  ill  and 
had  not  yet  felt  like  undertaking  the  journey, 
but  that  it  was  understood  he  would  come  later. 
The  Doctor  had  a  constrained  air  that  his  visitor 
could  not  help  noticing,  but  it  would  not  have  been 
the  part  of  good  breeding  to  allude  to  it,  and  Frank 
said  nothing  on  that  subject.  Instead,  he  turned 
the  conversation  toward  his  brother,  inquiring 
whether  Melton  had  seen  anything  of  him  since  his 
marriage. 

"  No,"  was  the  answer.  "  He  seemed  as  mucn. 
taken  out  of  the  world  as  you.  I  would  have  liked 
to  have  had  him  perform  the — the  ceremony,  could 
I  have  found  him  at  the  time,  but — " 

He  stopped,  noticing  something  most  peculiar  in 
Frank's  expression. 

"  I  didn't  know,"  stammered  the  other,  "  that  he 
was  ordained  yet.  Has  he,  then,  become  at  last  a 
full-fledged  preacher  ?  Clyde  has  not  used  me  any 
better  than  he  has  you  of  late.  I  have  not  had  a 
line  from  him  for  ever  so  long.  I  wonder  if  he  is 
settled,  as  they  call  it,  anywhere." 

Dr.  Melton  did  not  know  and  could  suggest  no 
way  of  discovering.  He  proposed  that,  as  it  was 


254  AN   ORIGINAL   SINNER. 

now  five  o'clock,  he  might  close  the  office  and  go. 
around  to  his  flat,  if  Frank  was  willing,  so  that  they 
could  have  a  little  time  before  dinner  for  conversa- 
tion with  Mrs.  Melton.  Frank  raised  the  point  that 
perhaps  he  ought  not  to  go,  when  the  lady  of  the 
hcruse  was  not  expecting  him,  but  this  was  overruled. 
Dr.  Melton  said  there  would  be  only  the  ordinary 
repast,  to  be  sure,  but  among  such  old  friends  too 
much  ceremony  was  not  required.  He  should  expect 
Frank  to  run  in  on  them  as  freely  as  he  had  done 
when  they  lived  in  Boston,  and  he  might  as  well 
begin  in  the  informal  fashion  he  would  have  to  fol- 
low. 

The  young  lawyer  looked  up  at  the  windows  of 
the  apartment-house  when  the  Doctor  indicated  the 
edifice,  after  they  had  turned  the  cornerof  Forty-third 
street.  He  was  far  from  his  ease,  but  he  had  sum- 
moned all  his  will  and  was  certain  his  host  and 
hostess  would  not  suspect  the  condition  of  his  mind. 
He  cared  a  great  deal  for  Lettie  Fuller,  though 
he  had  stepped  aside  for  his  brother  Clyde,  upon 
finding  that  she  had  set  her  heart  on  that  individual. 
He  wanted  to  hear  from  her  own  lips  how  it  had 
happened  that  in  so  short  a  time  she  accepted 
another  suitor,  whom  she  had  always  professed  to 
dislike.  At  the  door  of  the  residence  he  had  a 
strong  inclination  to  run  away,  but  when  Mark  said, 
"  Here  we  are,"  he  made  a  great  effort  and  mechan- 
ically ascended  the  stairs. 

Dr.  Melton  entered  his  flat  with  a  pass-key,  and 
ushered  his  visitor  into  the  parlor,  which  happened 
to  be  vacant  at  the  time.  Bidding  him  remove  his 
wraps  and  make  himself  at  home,  he  went  in  search 


JL  CONFIDENTIAL    TALK.  255 

of  Mrs.  Melton.  Frank,  still  standing  in  the  center 
of  the  parlor,  heard  a  knock  on  a  panel  of  a  door, 
and  Lettie's  voice  saying  : 

"Yes,  I  will  be  out  in  a  few  minutes." 

"  A  good  deal  of  ceremony  for  a  couple  three 
weeks  married,"  he  muttered. 

The  Doctor  returned,  saying  that  Mrs.  Melton 
would  be  in  very  shortly.  He  took  Frank's  things 
and  put  them  in  the  little  vestibule  and  went  on 
talking  with  him  as  if  nothing  had  happened  so  im* 
portant  to  many  lives  since  the  former  days  of  theii 
meeting.  Finally,  after  fifteen  minutes  or  so,  Mrs. 
Melton  came. 

It  did  not  take  Frank  a  moment  to  see  that  a  great 
change  had  been  wrought  in  her  appearance.  She 
was  five  years  older  in  looks  than  she  had  seemed 
when  he  last  saw  her,  in  Boston.  There  was  a  new 
hardness  about  her  mouth,  a  more  set  expression  to 
her  eyes,  a  greater  rigidity  to  her  figure.  The  only 
thing  that  was  not  changed  was  the  remarkable  taste 
of  her  costume.  She  had  on  a  prettier  dress  than 
ever. 

"  I  did  not  expect  this  pleasure,"  she  murmured, 
looking  at  the  carpet  rather  than  at  his  face.  "  It  is 
so  long  since  we  heard  from  you,  I  thought  you  in- 
tended to  desert  us  altogether." 

He  replied  by  telling  how  busy  he  had  been  and 
what  a  poor  correspondent  he  was.  The  trio  talked 
in  this  manner  until  the  dinner  was  announced. 
Before  the  dessert  was  disposed  of  a  message  came 
asking  that  Dr.  Melton  come  immediately  to  a  house 
on  Seventy-fourth  street. 

"  Business  is  of  the  first  importance,"  said  Mark, 
as  he  rose  to  leave  the  room, "  and  especially  a  busi- 


256  AN   OEIGINAL   SINNEK. 

ness  like  mine.  I  will  try  and  return  in  an  hour  or 
so,  but  if  I  am  detained  make  yourself  agreeable  to 
Mrs.  Melton,  and  don't  be  long  in  giving  us  another 
call."  , 

Mr.  Morley  was  uncomfortable  after  the  departure 
of  the  Doctor  He  ate  gingerly  of  the  fruit  and 
sipped  his  black  coffee  as  if  he  wanted  to  make  it 
last  as  long  as  possible. 

"Your  brother  has  been  here,"  said  Mrs.  Melton, 
suddenly. 

Frank  started. 

44 1  understood  from  Mark  that  he  had  not  seen 
him,"  he  replied. 

"  He  has  not,  but  /have,"  she  replied,  pointedly. 
Then  she  waited  a  moment  and  added  :  "  Mr.  Mor- 
ley, I  have  confided  in  you  before,  and  I  am  going 
to  do  so  again.  There  is  no  harmony  whatever 
between  my  husband  and  me." 

Frank  swallowed  the  rest  of  the  coffee,  wiped  his 
lips  nervously  on  a  napkin,  and  pushed  back  his 
chair  a  little  from  the  table. 

"  Why  is  it  necessary  that  I  should  know  this  ?"  h« 
ventured. 

"I  have  no  other  friend  in  the  world,"  she 
answered,  with  dilated  eyes.  "  It  seems  as  if  I  must 
tell  someone." 

There  was  a  bitterness  in  his  tone  as  he  uttered 
the  next  sentence. 

"  I  suppose  you  told  Clyde." 

The  doctor's  wife  half  rose  from  herchair,  and  her 
face  was  very  pale. 

"  Pardon  me,  Mr.  Morley,"  she  said.  *'  1  will 
trouble  you  no  more." 

"You  mistake    me."  he  responded.     **I  have  not 


A   CONFIDENTIAL   TALK.  257 

forgotten  how  much  you  affected  to  care  for  that 
brother  of  mine,  and  I  do  not  see  anything  strange 
in  supposing  that  he  would  have  had  your  confidence 
quite  as  quickly  as  myself." 

She  did  not  say  a  word  and  he  went  on  : 

"  It  is  not  to  be  expected  that  I,  who  know  noth- 
ing at  all  about  the  matter,  should  be  able  to  com- 
prehend the  strange  things  that  have  happened. 
The  last  time  you  and  I  talked  together  your  whole 
heart  was  rilled  with  one  vision  only — that  of  my 
brother.  There  was  no  place  in  it  for  any  other 
man,  and  least  of  all  for  the  one  who  has  since  be- 
come your  husband.  How  did  this  miracle  take 
place  ?  How  was  it  that  you  were  able  so  soon  to 
forget  the  old  love  and  take  on  the  new?  As  you 
say,  Mrs.  Melton,  we  were  friends  and  confidants,  and 
I  think  you  might  answer  me." 

Mrs.  Melton  winced  and  hesitated  a  few  moments 
before  replying. 

"  A  most  unhappy  combination  of  events  has 
brought  me  here,"  she  said.  "  You  are  the  only  man 
in  the  world  to  whom  I  would  take  the  pains  to  jus- 
tify myself.  I  know  I  can  put  the  fullest  confidence 
in  you.  I  told  you  the  truth;  I  did  love  your  brother. 
One  day  he  left  Boston  and  wrote  me  a  farewell 
letter,  in  which  he  urged  me  to  this  marriage.  Was 
there  anything  left  for  me  to  do  but  to  follow  his 
advice  ?" 

She  spoke  in  such  a  low  tone  that  he  had  to  pay 
the  utmost  attention  in  order  to  hear  her,  though 
they  were  not  separated  by  more  than  five  or  six  feet 
of  floor  space.  He  could  see  that  the  strongest  koi 
of  emotion  possessed  her. 


258  AN   ORIGINAL   SINNER. 

"Well,"  he  answered,  cuttingly,  "he  has  been 
here,  you  say." 

She  seemed  trying,  not  very  successfully,  to  grasp 
his  meaning. 

"  Yes,  he  has  been  here  ;  but  he  said  almost  noth- 
ing. He  looked  distressed,  but  his  actions  were  as 
unaccountable  as  ever.  I  thought  he  regretted  what 
had  happened,  but  I  am  not  sure  even  of  that" 

Frank  Morley  uttered  an  impatient  cry. 

"  What  could  he  do  if  he  did  regret  it  ?  A  mar- 
riage is  a  marriage,  I  suppose." 

"Yes,"  she  said,  drawing  a  long  breath,  "in  one 
sense  it  is.  But  I  do  not  think  there  are  many 
marriages  just  like  mine.  I  told  Dr.  Melton  I  did 
not  love  him,  and  that  if  he  married  he  must 
promise  to  wait  till  that  love  developed  before  he 
-claimed  anything  more  than  my  hand.  He  took  me 
at  my  word.  With  the  exception  that  we  have  lived 
>under  the  same  roof  and  dined  at  the  same  table  I 
have  been  no  wife  to  him." 

Morley  leaned  toward  her  with  a  feverish  eager- 
ness. 

"  Take  care  !"  he  said.  "  There  is  no  need  of  say- 
ing anything  untrue.  Do  you  mean — " 

She  reddened  like  a  peony. 

"  I  swear  it  to  you  !"  she  said.  "  He  is  very  kind. 
I  do  not  think  many  men  would  be  equally  so.  He 
has  taken  me  at  my  word." 

The  visitor  devoured  the  face  before  him  with  his 
eyes. 

"  And  is  he  satisfied  ?'* 

"  Ah,  no  !  But  I  cannot  help  that.  I  do  not  love 
him  any  more  than  I  did  on  my  wedding-day.  How 
can  I  show  him  an  affection  I  do  not  feel  '" 


A   CONFIDENTIAL  TALK.  259 

He  still  regarded  her  with  astonishment. 

"  Did  you  tell  this  to  Clyde?"  he  asked,  finally. 

Then  she  reddened  more  than  ever. 

"  I  could  not  have  told  him  had  it  been  necessary 
to  save  my  life,"  she  said. 

"  Why  ?     Because  you  love  him  ?" 

He  leaned  forward  again,  eagerly,  ready  to  catch 
the  first  words  as  they  fell. 

"  More  because  I  hate  him,  I  think, "she  answered, 
the  color  forsaking  her  cheek  all  at  once.  "  Love 
him  !  Ought  I  to  love  a  man  who  has  caused  me 
such  suffering  ?" 

Morley  sat  upright  again. 

"  Whether  you  ought  or  not,  you  do  /"  he  re- 
sponded. "  It  is  he  who  stands  between  you  and 
your  husband.  He,  the  clergyman,  the  priest,  the 
teacher  of  morals  !  He,  the  man,  but  for  whom  you 
might  at  this  moment  have  been  my  own  !" 

Her  eyes  opened  wide  at  this  statement. 

"  Your  own  !"  she  repeated.  "  Your  own  !  You 
have  told  me  a  hundred  times  that  you  should  never 
marry."  , 

"  Yes,"  he  said.  "  And  all  the  time  you  knew 
better.  You  knew  that  while  I  had  never  thought 
of  such  a  thing  before  I  met  you,  you  had  me  soul 
and  body  to  do  with  what  you  pleased.  You  could 
see  nothing  but  him,  but  you  knew  enough  of  me 
for  that.  It  took  the  black  coat  to  satisfy  you,  and  I 
tried  to  reconcile  myself  to  the  inevitable.  Listen, 
Lettie  Fuller,  for  I  will  not  call  you  by  the  name 
you  have  assumed  in  your  anger  !  You  love  Clyde 
Morley  as  well  as  ever,  and  if  he  comes  here  often 
enough,  he  will  wia  you  yet,  as  surely  as  if  he  did 


AN   ORIGINAL   SINNER. 

not  bear  a  catechism  in  his  hand  and  wear  the  odor 
of  sanctity  upon  his  brow." 

She  shook  her  head  with  great  decision. 

"  He  could  not  and  he  would  not,"  she  said.  "  I 
am  married.  I  fully  recognize  the  obligations  I 
have  assumed.  Your  brother  will  not  trouble  me. 
It  is  a  week  since  he  came,  and  I  have  no  doubt  he 
has  left  the  city." 

The  servant  knocked  on  the  door,  and  as  she 
entered  Mrs.  Melton  rose  with  her  guest  in  order  to 
allow  the  clearing  of  the  table.  When  they  were 
again  seated  in  the  parlor  the  conversation  was 
resumed. 

"Did  you  never  care  anything  for  me  ?"  he  asked 
her,  in  a  tremulous  voice. 

"Yes,  I  liked  you  very  much,  and  still  do  so, 
Remember  what  I  said  when  I  commenced  my  con- 
fession— there  is  no  other  man  in  the  world  to  whom 
I  would  have  made  it." 

Her  hand  lay  on  the  arm  of  her  chair  and  he 
pressed  his  own  upon  it. 

"  May  you  always  retain  your  confidence,"  he  said, 
with  feeling.  "Tell  me  more.  You  like  me  to-day 
better  than  you  do — better  than — " 

"  Dr.  Melton  ?  Much  better,"  she  answered,  warm- 
ly. "  I  never  have  liked  Dr.  Melton.  But  this  does 
not  make  me  forget  that  he  is  my  husband." 

He  raised  his  head  with  dignity. 

"  I  have  not  asked  you  to  forget  it,"  he  said. 

"  By  no  means,"  she  replied,  with  some  confusion. 

"  And  you  do  not  think  I  ever  will  ?" 

She  shook  her  head  with  downcast  eyes. 

"  There  is  one  thing  I  would  do,  if  it  were  of  any 
use,"  he  said,  soberly.  "  I  would  ask  you  to  leave  this 


"l   WANTED    YOU   TO    SUFFER."  261 

man  and  return  to  your  old  home  until  a  divorce 
could  be  obtained,  and  then — " 

She  stopped  him,  seeming  frightened  at  the  mere 
proposition. 

"  Oh,  that  is  out  of  the  question  !"  she  said.  "  Do 
not  say  anything  more  like  that,  I  beg  you  !" 

He  could  no  longer  conceal  his  agitation.  He 
rose,  saying  it  was  best  he  should  be  going,  and  she 
did  not  think  it  wise  to  stop  him. 

"  I  hope  we  shall  see  you  often,"  she  said,  as  she 
handed  him  his  wraps'. 

"  You  may,"  he  replied.  "  I  expect  to  stay  in 
New  York  most  of  the  winter.  You  have  nothing  to 
fear  from  me.  I  know  where  the  line  is  and  shall 
keep  to  it.  But — can  I  say  something  else  ?" 

She  waited  for  him  to  finish,  wondering  what  it 
would  be. 

"Clyde  Morley  used  to  warn  people  against  me," 
he  said  earnestly.  "Things  have  changed  now,  and 
it  is  my  duty  to  warn  them  against  him.  Be  on  your 
guard  !  He  may  seem  a  saint  and  an  angel,  but  he  is 
also  a  man!" 

Lettie  Melton's  heart  beat  rapidly  as  she  realized 
the  full  purport  of  those  expressions. 


CHAPTER  XXV. 

"I     WANTED    YOU     TO    SUFFER." 

Clyde  Morley  had  not  left  the  city.  He  had  only 
returned  to  his  labors  with  renewed  zeal,  striving  to 
bury  himself  in  his  work.  He  rose  every  morning  as 
soon  as  it  was  light  and  took  a  long  walk  among  the 


262  AN   ORIGINAL   SINNER. 

poorer  streets,  or  rather  the  streets  where  the  poorer 
class  live  and  toil.  Many  of  them  came  to  know  his 
face  and  to  feel  the  strength  of  his  kindly  smile  and 
outstretched  hand.  After  taking  his  breakfast  in  a 
cheap  restaurant — for  the  purpose  of  imbibing  at  the 
same  time  as  much  as  he  could  of  the  life  of  these 
people — he  had  his  regular  engagements  until  three 
or  four  o'clock,  and  again  in  the  evening,  unless  he 
made  special  arrangements  to  have  someone  take  his 
place. 

The  gospel  he  preached  had  a  good  deal  more  to 
do  with  soap  and  water  than  with  theology,  and  he 
was  more  apt  to  give  a  caller  a  bottle  of  medicine  or 
a  pair  of  mittens  than  a  tract  on  trinitarianism. 
This  made  him  seem  to  some  of  his  associates  not 
quite  up  to  the  orthodox  standard,  but  they  found 
him  much  too  useful  to  criticize  deeply. 

But,  wherever  he  went,  into  whatever  haunt  of 
poverty  he  penetrated,  a  face  and  form  went  with 
him — the  face  and  form  of  Dr.  Melton's  wife. 

Work  could  not  blot  out  her  image  from  his  mind. 
The  miles  he  walked  each  day,  the  rigorousness  of 
the  plain  diet  he  used,  the  hour's  practise  he  took 
with  the  dumbbells  and  pulls  in  a  gymnasium,  had 
no  effect  on  this  problem.  He  wanted  that  girl  as 
he  had  never  wanted  anything  else  in  his  life.  And 
when  he  could  bear  it  no  longer,  he  posted  himself 
one  afternoon  in  the  vicinity  of  her  residence,  waited 
as  he  had  done  before  till  her  husband  left  the  house, 
and  then  rang  the  bell. 

The  servant  recognized  him,  and  went  to  tell  her 
mistress  that  the  gentleman  who  had  called  several 
weeks  before  was  in  the  parlor.  Mrs.  Melton's 
breatb  came  faster,  for  she  had  wanted  him  to  come 


"I    WANTED   YOU   TO    8UFFEB." 

ever  since  the  day  his  brother  was  there,  and  had 
hoped  that  each  ring  at  the  bell  might  be  his.  She 
realized  something  of  the  danger  there  was  in  meet- 
ing him — the  uncontrollable  impetuosity  of  his  tem- 
per— but  her  life  was  so  utterly  empty  that  she 
welcomed  even  the  risks  that  attended  this  meeting. 

When  she  entered  the  parlor  and  spoke  to  him  she 
saw  at  once  that  he  was  in  a  very  different  mood 
from  that  which  he  had  exhibited  on  the  former 
occasion. 

"I  am  glad  to  see  you  again,  Mr.  Morley,"  she 
said,  with  cordiality.  '*  You  have  been  so  long  in 
coming  that  I  feared  you  had  left  the  city." 

He  explained  his  absense,  in  a  very  ordinary  tone, 
by  telling  of  the  work  in  which  he  was  engaged  and 
of  the  claims  it  had  upon  his  time.  Then  they 
talked  of  other  things  and  she  took  occasion  to  men- 
tion the  call  that  his  brother  had  made  upon  them. 
He  did  not  seem  much  interested  in  hearing  about 
Frank,  only  asking  if  she  supposed  he  was  still  in 
the  city.  She  told  him  her  husband  was  doing  well, 
and  that  her  father  had  not  yet  felt  able  to  under- 
take the  ride  from  Boston.  When  these  topics  had 
been  discussed  quite  in  the  fashion  of  the  ordinary 
caller  and  his  hostess,  Clyde  began  abruptly  to  speak 
of  other  matters. 

"  We  ought  to  have  a  better  understanding,  Lettie," 
he  said,  suddenly.  "Oh,  don't  mind  my  use  of  your 
Christian  name  ;  it  comes  more  naturally  to  me  than 
your  new  one.  I  have  a  confession  to  make.  It 
won't  hurt  you  to  hear  it,  for  it  can  mean  nothing 
now.  I  want  to  tell  you  that  I  love  you." 

It  did  not  surprise  her  to  hear  this,  but  the  words 
sent  a  strange  thrill  through  her  frame. 


264  AN   ORIGINAL  SINNER. 

"  I  want  you  to  know,"  he  repeated  slowly,  "  how 
dearly  I  love  you.  I  want  you  to  know  that  I  would 
give  worlds  to  undo  that  knot  which  ties  you  to 
another.  You  permeate  my  life  as  nothing  else  has 
ever  done.  The  loss  of  you  is  sending  me  rapidly 
to  the  grave." 

She  uttered  a  sharp  cry,  and  pressed  her  hands 
over  her  heart. 

"  I  am  not  finding  fault  with  any  one,"  he  pro- 
ceeded, with  deliberation.  "  If  any  person  is  to 
blame  it  is  undoubtedly  myself,  and  yet — I  did  not 
know.  I  was  trying  to  reconcile  my  duty  with  my 
desires.  On  one  side  was  my  promise  to  Dr.  Welsh 
that  I  would  try  to  embrace  the  ministry.  On  the 
other  was  you.  I  felt  that,  with  you  in  my  arms,  I 
should  have  no  time  nor  thought  left  for  God.  To 
be  true  to  my  highest  instincts  I  must  resolve  upon 
a  life  of  celibacy,  since  you  were  the  only  woman  I 
had  ever  cared  for  or  ever  could.  I  am  not  yet  sure 
I  was  wrong.  I  only  know  that  the  sacrifice  was 
more  than  I  have  had  the  strength  to  endure  ;  and 
that  I  am  steadily  failing  in  health  and  shall  soon  be 
among  the  missing." 

The  musical  monotony  of  his  voice  acted  on  her 
like  an  anodyne.  His  words  made  her  forget  every- 
thing but  the  suffering  he  endured  and  the  pain  it 
caused  in  her  own  breast.  She  rose  from  the  chair 
she  had  taken,  and  drawing  a  hassock  to  his  feet, 
threw  herself  upon  it  and  laid  her  head  upon  his 
knees. 

A  vibration  caused  by  the  contact  passed  over 
him,  but  he  did  not  act  otherwise  perturbed.  He 
put  his  hands  on  her  head,  and  taking  the  pins  out 
of  her  hair  bathed  his  palms  in  it  slowly. 


"  I    WANTED   YOU   TO    SUFFER."  265 

"  I  have  done  you  a  great  injury,"  he  proceeded. 
"  I  advised  you  to  marry  a  man  you  did  not  love — 
the  most  terrible  thing  conceivable,  as  it  now 
appears  to  me.  You  did  as  I  bade  you,  and  this 
union  can  have  had  no  other  effect  than  to  debase 
you.  To  render  unto  a  man  whom  you  do  not  love 
the  duties  of  a  wife  must  make  you  feel  that  there 
are  no  other  depths  to  which  you  can  sink.  I  was 
thinking  only  of  myself,  and  I  have  killed  the  most 
sacred  aspirations  of  the  one  I  loved." 

She  wanted  him  to  know,  and  yet  she  hesitated  to 
tell  him.  Perhaps  he  would  not  believe  her  ! 

"One  minute,  Clyde,"  she  said,  putting  an  arm 
about  his  waist  to  hold  him  closer.  "  Listen  for  one 
minute.  There  is  a  door — between  his  room  and 
mine.  That  door  has  never — been  opened.  He  gave 
me — the  key — and — I  have  lost  it." 

He  lifted  a  handful  of  her  hair  and  pressed  it 
against  his  face. 

"  Poor  girl  !"  he  murmured.  "  You  are  even  more 
unhappy  than  I  thought  you." 

"  No,"  she  said.  "  I  am  not  unhappy.  I  was — 
until  this  moment.  Now  there  is  no  woman  on  earth 
so  contented  as  I." 

"  Bnt  this  cannot  last !"  he  cried.  "  There  can  be 
no  enduring  happiness  in  such  meetings  as  this,  lia- 
ble to  be  interrupted  at  any  moment  by  one  who  has 
a  legal  right  to  claim  every  sign  of  your  affection." 

She  drew  his  sad  face  down  and  looked  into  the 
anxious  eyes. 

"I  wanted  you  to  suffer,"  she  whispered.  "I 
think  I  even  hated  you,  after  you  wrote  me  that  let- 
ter. I  was  reckless  and  did  not  care  what  became 
of  me.  But  now  I  would  shield  you  from  every  pang. 


266  AN   ORIGINAL   SINNER. 

I  want  you  to  live  and  to  be  happy  again.  Don't  inter- 
pose your  scruples.  They  have  ruined  our  happiness 
once.  Let  them  go.  You  will  come  here  often. 
There  will  be  days  of  sunshine  for  me  still.  Clyde  ! 
There  is  nothing  sure  in  this  world  but  love  !  Has 
a  mere  ceremony  the  power  to  take  from  me  the  rap- 
ture I  feel  when  your  hands  touch  me  ?" 

He  was  silent  for  a  long  time,  with  her  hair  in  his 
fingers.  He  wanted  to  think  as  she  did,  but  between 
them  there  rose  such  an  insurmountable  wall  ! 

"  You  forget  a  very  important  thing,"  he  said,  at 
last.  "Your — " 

The  word  was  so  disagreeable  to  him  that  he  could 
not  utter  it. 

"lam  not  likely  to  forget  him,"  she  responded. 
*'  He  will  not  interfere  with  us.  He  has  a  new 
bride — his  profession — and  seems  wholly  bound  up 
in  her.  All  the  time  he  is  at  home  is  when  at  meals, 
and  from  late  in  the  evening  till  breakfast.  Very 
often  he  is  called  out  at  night.  I  assure  you,  he  will 
not  be  in  our  way." 

But  Clyde,  with  all  his  willingness  to  agree  with 
her,  felt  the  contemptible  quality  of  the  position  in 
which  he  would  be  placed  and  still  hesitated.  What- 
ever of  manliness  there  was  left  in  him  rebelled 
against  this  double  dealing. 

"This  is  not  a  thing  to  decide  lightly,"  he  said. 
"  We — we  must  think  it  over." 

She  looked  up  at  him  in  such  a  way  that  he  was 
for  the  moment  much  disconcerted. 

"What  is  there  to  think  over  ?"  she  asked.  "If 
you  will  come  here,  what  more  can  we  ask  ?  I  don't 
understand  what  you  mean." 

It  was  evident  she  did  not.     The  divinity  student 


267 

felt  how  little  the  meagre  food,  the  long  walks,  the 
athletic  exercises  had  done  for  him.  With  an  effort 
he  took  his  hands  from  her  hair  and  sat  upright. 

"  You  had  best  get  a  chair,"  he  suggested,  kindly. 
"This  position  would  not  look  well  if  a  caller  should 
appear." 

She  raised  her  head  from  his  lap. 

"  My  servant  would  not  enter  without  knocking," 
she  said,  "and  Dr.  Melton  would  have  to  use  his  key. 
We  could  not  well  be  safer.  If  you  do  not  like  to 
have  me  here,  however,  I  will  rise." 

He  assisted  her  to  her  feet. 

"You  do  not  doubt  my  love?"  he  asked  earnestly. 

"No.  But  I  do  not  think  you  care  as  much  for 
me  as  I  do  for  you.  If  you  did,  you  would  not  be  so 
suspicious." 

"  We  must  use  reason,  Lettie.  If  Dr.  Melton 
should  enter  and  find  us  in  the  position  we  occupied 
a  moment  ago,  what  do  you  suppose  he  would  think  ?" 

She  shrugged  her  shoulders  as  much  as  to  say  she 
could  not  answer  that,  and  began  to  do  up  her  hair 
at  the  mirror.  She  had  hardly  finished  it  when  an 
event  occurred  which  surprised  both  of  them  and 
startled  at  least  one. 


CHAPTER    XXVI. 

IN    THE    FACE  OF    DISHONOR. 

Dr.  Melton  walked  unannounced  into  the  room. 

"  Well,  upon  my  word,"  he  exclaimed,  in  a  pleased 
tone.  "  I  did  not  know  you  were  here,  Mr.  Morley ! 
The  servant  must  have  left  the  outer  door  open  when 


268  AN   ORIGINAL  SINNEB, 

she  admitted  you.  I  ran  home,"  he  went  on  to  say 
to  his  wife,  "to  tell  you  I  have  had  a  consultation 
call  at  Harlem  which  will  prevent  my  coming  to 
dinner.  The  call  is  at  half-past  five,  so  I  have 
a  little  time  to  visit  before  I  go.  Come,  Mr.  Morley, 
explain  where  you  have  kept  yourself  all  this  time." 

Clyde  was  thankful  for  the  length  of  these 
speeches,  as  he  had  felt  quite  a  shock  when  the 
Doctor  first  appeared  on  the  scene.  He  could  not 
help  thinking  what  might  have  happened  had  he 
come  in  ten  minutes  earlier.  It  was  not  likely  that 
he  would  have  relished  seeing  his  wife  sitting  at  the 
feet  of  his  old  friend,  her  unbound  hair  lying  spread 
over  his  knees.  He  had  time  to  notice,  also,  that 
Mark  seemed  to  bear  his  matrimonial  disappoint- 
ment very  well,  and  a  feeling  of  contempt  for  such  a 
man  rose  in  his  mind.  But  it  was  necessary  to 
repress  all  this,  and  he  responded  to  the  invitation 
to  tell  where  he  had  been  by  relating  the  particulars 
of  the  work  in  which  he  was  engaged. 

"  And  so  you  are  sacrificing  comfort,  luxury,  even 
health  on  the  altar  of  public  good,"  said  Melton. 
"Do  you  know  it  seems  to  me  a  very  noble  thing  of 
you  ?  Well,  I'll  volunteer  this  much  aid,  if  you  care 
to  accept  it.  Should  any  of  your  poor  families 
happen  to  live  within  a  mile  of  my  office,  I'll  doctor 
them  for  nothing." 

Clyde  thanked  him,  saying  he  would  certainly 
send  him  some  patients.  By  this  time  the  extra-pal- 
lid appearance  of  Mr.  Morley  had  begun  to  alarm 
the  young  physician. 

"  Excuse  me  for  saying  so,"  he  ejaculated,  "  but 
you  need  a  doctor  yourself  as  bad  as  any  one  I've 
seen  lately.  I  don't  think  this  work  agrees  w'th 


IN  THE    FACE   OF   DISHONOR.  269 

your  health.  It's  all  well  enough,  you  know,  to  lift 
up  the  fallen  and  succor  the  weak,  but  no  one  has  a 
right  to  sacrifice  himself  in  doing  it.  Seriously,  Mr. 
Morley,  I  want  you  to  take  a  course  of  medicine." 

Clyde  tried  to  smile  away  the  idea.  He  reminded 
Dr.  Melton  that  he  had  always  been  pale  and  that 
no  amount  of  drugs  could  put  the  sort  of  ruddy 
color  into  his  cheek  that  the  Doctor  had  in  his. 

"  It's  no  laughing  matter,"  replied  Melton,  soberly. 
"I  wish  you  would  let  me  make  a  slight  examina- 
tion, just  to  test  some  things  I  have  in  mind." 

"  Willingly,  in  the  interest  of  science,"  responded 
Mr.  Morley,  with  another  smile. 

The  doctor  turned  to  his  wife. 

"  Lettie,  if  you  will  leave  us  alone  for  a  few 
moments — " 

As  she  rose  to  leave  the  room,  her  eyes  met  those 
of  the  visitor.  She  did  not  like  to  go. 

"  Is  it  so  serious  a  matter  as  to  drive  her  away  ?" 
asked  Clyde,  deprecatingly. 

"  You  will  have  to  remove  your  coat,"  explained 
Melton,  briefly. 

Without  another  word  Lettie  took  her  departure, 
but  as  she  closed  the  door,  her  eyes  met  Clyde's 
again. 

"  Your  heart  is  very  weak,"  said  the  doctor,  after 
listening  awhile  at  that  organ.  "  It  is  unaccountably 
so.  You  are  evidently  overdoing.  You  must  be 
careful.  What  you  want  is  the  most  nourishing 
food  and  complete  rest.  You  used  to  walk  a  great 
deal.  I  am  afraid  you  still  do  so,  and  you  are  not 
able  to  stand  it." 

He  looked  at  Clyde  questioningly. 


270  AN    ORIGINAL    SINNER. 

"1  suppose  I  average  ten  miles  a  day,"  was  the 
answer. 

"  You  must  quit  that  at  once,"  said  Dr.  Melton, 
positively.  "Where  do  you  dine  ?" 

Clyde  smiled  sarcastically. 

"  At  some  restaurant  in  or  around  the  Bowery." 

"  In  order  to  be  among  the  people  you  seek  to 
serve,  eh  ?  I  give  you  strict  orders  to  exchange 
those  restaurants  for  Delmonico's,  at  least  for  awhile. 
What  do  you  have  for  breakfast  ?" 

"  Sometimes  a  cup  of  coffee,  sometimes  nothing." 

"  Terrible  !  You  want  the  best  beefsteak  you  can 
find.  What  do  you  usually  drink  with  your  dinner?" 

The  sarcastic  smile  was  growing  bitter. 

"Never  anything  but  water." 

Dr.  Melton  put  up  the  watch  with  which  he  had 
been  counting  his  patient's  pulse. 

"  You  will  drink  a  bottle  of  Bass  with  your  steak 
every  morning,  a  pint  of  port  and  a  glass  of  cham- 
pagne with  your  dinner.  Come,  sir,  I  am  not  joking 
with  you.  It  is  a  serious  matter.  Your  heart  needs 
solid  food  to  build  it  up  and  you  must  let  your  body 
rest  or  there  will  be  trouble.  It  is  all  well  enough 
to  try  to  prepare  the  souls  of  the  East  Side  for 
Heaven,  but  you  don't  need  to  send  yourself  there 
in  advance,  and  that  is  what  you  are  doing  at  light- 
ning speed." 

Clyde  put  on  his  coat,  wondering  as  he  did  so  how 
he  could  apprise  Mrs.  Melton  of  the  fact  that  he  was 
again  fit  for  her  eyes  to  behold. 

"Will  you  promise  ?"  demanded  P"  "«lton-  with 
his  hand  on  the  other's  shoulder. 

Clyde  shook  his  head. 


IN   THE   FACE   OF   DISHONOR.  271 

41  What  you  ask  is  impossible,"  he  said.  "  I  cannot 
explain,  but — it  is  impossible." 

"Very  well,"  said  the  Doctor,  shortly.  "  I  give  you 
six  months  to  live." 

"  It  is  quite  enough,"  responded  Clyde,  wearily. 

Melton  stared  at  him  and  then  wrote  out  a  pre- 
scription. 

"You've  got  hypochondria,  along  with  the  rest, 
have  you  ?  One  would  think  you  had  met  with  some 
terrible  misfortune.  Something  must  be  done  to  get 
you  out  of  this  train  of  thought."  He  walked  to  the 
door  and  called  his  wife.  When  she  made  her 
appearance  he  told  her  of  his  diagnosis,  "  He  will 
have  to  begin  treatment  at  once,"  he  said.  ''You 
must  help  me  persuade  him.  Nothing  but  tonics 
and  the  best  of  food,  taken  with  absolute  regularity, 
can  save  him.  It  is  not  often  I  tell  a  patient  so 
much  of  his  condition,  but  I  took  Mr.  Morley  for  a 
man  of  sense  and  I  thought  it  best  to  let  him  know." 

Mrs.  Melton  bowed.  She  felt  a  sense  of  alarm  at 
the  revelation,  and  wondered  how  much  she  was  to 
blame  for  it. 

"  He  has  been  walking  ten  or  fifteen  miles  a  day," 
continued  the  Doctor.  "  He  must  stop  it.  In  his 
weak  condition,  it  is  simply  suicidal.  It  won't  do  to 
trifle  with  a  thing  like  this.  His  meals  must  be  pre- 
scribed for  him  as  well  as  his  medicine.  I  would 
not  say  this  if  there  was  the  least  room  for  doubt. 
Ask  any  other  physician  in  New  York,  if  you  think 
it  open  to  question,"  he  said,  to  Morley.  "I'll  tell 
you  what  to  do,"  he  added,  warmly.  "  Come  here 
and  live  with  us  till  we  get  you  on  the  right  road. 
Drop  all  you»-  mission  business  for  a  month  or  two. 


272  AN   ORIGINAL   SINNBE. 

and   stay   where   I   can   have   you   under   my  own 
observation." 

Clyde  was  startled  at  the  proposition.  He  dared 
not  look  at  Mrs.  Melton,  but  he  knew  instinctively 
that  her  eyes  were  searching  him,  ready  to  indorse 
the  suggestion.  To  his  relief  Dr.  Melton  took  out 
his  watch,  saying  he  must  be  going,  if  he  would  keep 
his  appointment. 

"  It's  a  poor  fellow  that  there  is  little  probability 
of  our  saving,"  he  said.  "  He  would  not  listen  to 
his  physician  when  he  told  him  to  drop  business, 
three  months  ago,  and  now  I  fear  he  is  booked 
through.  Think  of  my  proposition,  Mr.  Morley. 
Lettie,  say  all  you  can  to  persuade  him.  We  haven't 
much  room,  but  you'll  be  welcome,  and  if  you  are 
here  I  shall  make  sure  my  directions  are  being  fol- 
lowed. Well,  good-afternoon." 

It  was  ten  minutes  later  before  either  of  the  two 
people  left  in  that  parlor  spoke  an  audible  word.  It 
was  Mrs.  Melton  then. 

"  You  will  come  ?"  she  said,  anxiously. 

"How  can  I  ?"  he  cried.  "  How  can  I  accept  his 
kindness  and  live  under  his  roof,  and  at  the  same 
time  continually  dishonor  him  ?" 

A  strange  look  came  into  her  face. 

"It  will  not  dishonor  him  to  dine  at  his  table  and 
sleep  in  his  apartment,"  she  replied. 

"  Or  to  talk  and  to  act  to  his  wife  as  I  have  been 
doing  to-day  ?" 

"  We  should  have  to  be  sure  of  the  hall-door,"  shfe 
responded,  thoughtfully. 

He  was  impatient  to  tell  her  of  the  fever  that  was 
on  him,  of  the  pains  he  had  taken  to  deaden  it  by 
his  long  walks  and  his  poor  fare,  but  he  could  not. 


IN   THE    FACE    OF   DISHONOR.  273 

He  felt  that  she  would  not  understand  without  a 
deeper  explanation  than  he  was  ready  to  make. 

"  I  should  always  be  here  and  he  would  nearly 
always  be  away,"  Clyde  said,  speaking  his  thoughts 
aloud.  "  I  should  sit  with  his  wife  at  breakfast, 
where  he  never  joins  her  ;  at  lunch,  which  he  takes 
in  haste  and  I  at  leisure  ;  at  dinner,  liable  to  be 
broken  in  upon  in  his  case  by  professional  calls,  and 
in  mine  by  nothing.  In  the  morning  I  am  to  drink 
malt  liquors  and  at  night  champagne  !  My  God  !" 

She  came  to  him  and  touched  him  on  the  arm 
with  her  soft  hand. 

"You  will  come.  He  is  quite  right,  you  are  not 
well." 

He  pushed  his  chair  back  a  little  so  that  he  could 
look  her  full  in  the  face. 

"If  I  do  come,"  he  said,  "you  must  enter  into  a 
conspiracy  with  me." 

"  A  conspiracy  ?" 

"Yes.  I  must  deceive  him.  I  shall  require  your 
aid.  I  won't  drink  ale  for  breakfast.  I  will  drink  no 
more  wine  for  dinner  than  is  necessary  to  blind  his 
eyes.  He  will  insist  on  my  following  his  directions. 
I  shall  rely  on  you  to  help  me  deceive  him." 

She  opened  her  eyes  very  wide  and  asked  why  he 
wished  to  evade  these  very  reasonable  regulations. 

"  No  matter  why.  It  is  enough  that  I  do — that  I 
will  not  come  here  unless  you  promise  what  I  ask. 
And  I  shall  take  walks,  too,  walks  that  he  must  not 
know  of — as  long  and  tiring,  perhaps  even  more  so, 
than  ever.  If  I  come  here  you  are  not  to  question 
me,  or  to  dissuade  me  from  anything  I  choose  to  do.** 

Thinking  this  only  a  fancy  that  would  wear  away 


274  AN   ORIGINAL   SINNER. 

in  time,  Lettie  consented  without  more  delay,  and  to 
her  joy  Clyde  told  her  he  would  bring  his  baggage 
to  the  house  within  a  week. 


CHAPTER   XXVII. 

CHAMPAGNE    AND    GRAPES. 

After  the  departure  of  Mrs.  Melton  from  Boston 
Bessie  Bright  was  in  a  state  of  dejection.  She  had 
not  been  as  close  a  friend  of  Lettie  as  she  once  was, 
for  a  number  of  months,  but  the  Colonel's  daughter 
still  came  the  nearest  of  any  one  to  being  her  con- 
fidant. Now  there  was  absolutely  no  one  to  go  to 
with  the  story  of  her  heartaches.  Bessie  had  began 
to  realize  how  much  attached  Lettie  had  become  to 
Clyde  Morley,  and  at  one  time  she  had  woven  a 
dream  of  the  day  when  she  and  her  friend  should  be 
sisters-in-law,  both  happy  in  the  possession  of  the 
husbands  they  loved.  Then  came  the  succession  of 
events  that  burst  the  bubble.  Frank  went  away 
after  that  unhappy  evening  when  Charlie  Wilkins 
surprised  them  in  his  room,  and  not  a  word  had  ever 
come  to  say  whether  he  was  dead  or  living.  And 
Lettie,  to  the  surprise  of  her  friend  and  every  one 
else  who  knew  her,  had  consented  to  a  hasty  mar- 
riage to  Dr.  Melton  and  had  left  the  city  for  New 
York,  where  she  seemed  as  much  out  of  the  world  to 
Bessie  as  if  they  had  buried  her  in  a  tomb. 

When  Bessie  first  heard  of  the  intended  marriage 
she  could  hardly  credit  the  report.  She  knew  that 
Clyde  had  not  been  at  the  house  for  some  time  and 


CHAMPAGNE   AND   GRAPES.  875 

that  Melton  came  much  oftener  than  formerly  ;  she 
knew  that  Col.  Fuller  had  expressed  a  preference  for 
the  medical  man  ;  and  she  knew  that  since  his  latest 
attack  of  illness  he  had  made  existence  almost  un- 
bearable for  his  child.  But  she  had  learned  that 
Lettie  had  a  will  of  her  own  under  her  calm  exterior, 
and  had  never  supposed  she  could  be  persuaded  into 
marrying  one  man  while  she  loved  another.  When 
there  was  little  doubt  of  the  correctness  of  the  report 
she  called  Miss  Fuller  into  the  parlor  one  day  and 
asked  her  how  it  could  possibly  be  true. 

"It's  simple  enough,"  replied  Lettie,  with  an  air  of 
defiance.  "  Dr.  Melton  has  asked  me  to  marry  him 
and  I  have  accepted." 

"  But — Lettie,"  stammered  the  other,  "  I  was  so 
sure  that  you  loved — " 

"  Were  you  ?"  was  the  cool  retort.  "  You  should 
know  that  in  these  days  marriage  and  love  are  two 
very  different  things.  I  have  no  doubt  you  think, 
at  this  moment,  that  you  love  a  certain  person 
whom  I  will  not  name  ;  and  neither  have  I  any  doubt 
that  when  you  marry  it  will  be  quite  another  man." 

The  tears  rose  to  Bessie's  eyes.  Here  was  a 
mystery  she  could  not  penetrate.  The  attitude  of 
Lettie's  mind  seemed  to  her  unutterably  sad. 

"  You  will  not  be  happy  in  such  a  marriage,"  she 
said.  "  Where  there  is  no  love  there  will  always  be 
trouble." 

"  I  do  not  expect  to  be  happy.  It  is  a  long  time 
since  I  knew  the  meaning  of  the  word.  My  marriage 
is  settled  upon  and  that  is  the  end  of  it." 

This  confession  horrified  Bessie  extremely. 

"  Oh,  Lettie  !"  she  cried.  "  If  you  will  not  care 
for  yourself,  think  how  unfair  this  is  to  him?  * 


276  AN  ORIGINAL   SINNER. 

Miss  Fuller  laughed  discordantly. 

"To  Dr.  Melton  ?  Recollect,  my  dear,  that  it  is 
of  his  own  seeking.  I  did  not  ask  him  to  marry  me. 
It  was  his  proposition.  He  knows  I  do  not  love  him  ; 
there  has  been  no  deception." 

Bessie  shivered  at  the  iciness  of  her  friend's  man- 
ner. 

"Does  he  also  know,"  she  inquired,  with  chatter- 
ing teeth,  "  that  you  love  another  ?" 

An  expression  little  short  of  anger  came  over  Let- 
tie's  face. 

"  If  he  does,"  she  replied,  "  he  knows  much  more 
than  I.  Why  do  you  say  such  things  ?  It  may  hap- 
pen to  anyone  to  form  attachments  and  then  break 
them.  A  liking  for  a  man  does  not  necessarily  com- 
pel one  to  be  an  old  maid  on  his  account.  Don't  be 
silly,  Bessie.  There  are  more  men  in  the  world 
than  one,  and  you  will  do  like  me  when  your  time 
comes." 

Bessie  shook  her  head  as  if  that  could  never  be. 

"  You  seem  so  different  from  yourself  lately,  Let- 
tie,"  she  said,  "  that  I  hardly  know  what  to  make  of 
you.  I  am  sure  I  shall  cry  all  night  for  you  the  day 
you  are  married.  I  wish  you  could  at  least 
postpone  it  for  six  months  or  a  year.  It  is  a  dread- 
ful thing  to  marry  without  love  !  Perhaps,  if  you 
waited,  you  would  see  it.  Oh,  won't  you  hesitate 
a  little  longer  before  taking  a  step  you  cannot  re- 
trace !" 

Miss  Fuller  responded  that  the  day  was  set,  and 
that  a  postponement  would  interfere  with  all  of  her 
plans. 

"  And  now  let  me  talk  a  little  plainly,"  she  added. 
"  This  is  the  last  time  I  stall  ever  be  able  to  discuss 


CHAMPAGNE   AND   GRAPES.  277 

ttiis  matter  with  you,  and  I  know  you  will  never  de- 
bate my  affairs  with  a  third  person.  I  loved  Clyde 
Morley.  There  is  no  reason  why  I  should  deny  that 
to  yon.  I  found  myself  caring  for  him  before  I  knew 
what  I  was  about.  He  is  an  ascetic,  a  man  destined 
for  the  priesthood  of  his  church,  and  as  unlikely  to 
marry  as  a  monk.  I  had  no  business  to  become 
attached  to  him  ;  but  my  experience  in  life,  as  you 
know,  is  very  narrow.  When  I  realized  the  truth  I 
put  him  out  of  my  heart  with  a  firm  hand.  As  I  told 
you,  I  do  not  love  Dr.  Melton.  He  knows  it,  and  he 
takes  me  with  no  deception  on  my  part.  We  are 
going  away.  Boston  is  distasteful  to  me  now  and  I 
had  rather  live  elsewhere.  You  have  given  me 
what  you  call  good  advice  and  I  thank  you  for  it, 
though  I  cannot  change  my  plans.  Now  let  me  give 
a  little  counsel  to  you.  Frank  Morley  is  as  little 
likely  to  marry  as  his  brother.  They  are  a  strange 
pair.  Don't  let  all  the  roses  in  your  cheeks  fade 
away  because  he  once  said  pretty  things  to  you. 
Cast  him  out  of  your  thoughts  as  I  have  cast  the 
other  from  mine.  You  are  too  young  to  look  on  the 
dark  side  of  this  world  because  some  masculine 
voice  has  made  your  heart  beat  faster." 

The  tears  that  had  gathered  in  Bessie's  eyes  began 
to  fall. 

"  I  feel  that  you  are  right — about  Frank,"  she  said, 
"  but  I  care  too  much  for  him  to  think  there  ever  can 
be  any  one  to  take  the  place  he  has  held.  It  does 
not  matter — I  am  not  afraid  to  be  an  old  maid — I 
shall  live  here  and  be  with  Auntie  all  my  life.  But 
it  seems  dreadful  to  me  to  think  of  doing  as  you 
will,  vowing  love  and  honor  and  truth  to  a  man  who 
has  never  touched  your  heart." 


278  AN   ORIGINAL   SINNER. 

"  He  understands  it,"  replied  Lettie,  quickly.  "  He 
knows  that  the  words  I  am  to  utter  in  the  ceremony 
are  with  a  mental  reservation." 

"  But  if  you  should  ever  love  some  one  else — after 
you  are  married  ?"  suggested  Bessie.  "Think  how 
awful  that  would  be  !" 

Miss  Fuller  shrugged  her  shoulders. 

"That  is  the  most  improbable  thing  your  virid 
imagination  could  have  suggested,"  she  said.  "  Come 
Bessie,  we  are  wasting  words.  I  am  to  be  married. 
If  you  cannot  congratulate  me,  don't  say  anything 
to  discourage  me.  And  when  your  time  comes,  dear, 
I  will  be  equally  considerate." 

That  was  the  last  they  said  on  that  subject  before 
the  wedding-day.  The  Brights  had  already  been 
informed  by  Col.  Fuller  that  there  would  be  no 
invitations  to  the  ceremony.  When  the  carriage 
departed  with  the  newly-made  bride  and  bride- 
groom the  house  seemed  lonelier  than  it  had  ever 
been.  Bessie  fulfilled  her  promise  by  crying  all 
night  at  what  she  regarded  as  the  unhappy  fate  of 
her  long-time  friend.  Had  they  taken  Lettie's  body 
to  the  tomb  the  girl  could  hardly  have  thought  the 
event  a  sadder  one. 

About  a  week  after  the  departure  of  Dr.  and  Mrs. 
Melton,  Bessie  was  told  that  Mr.  Charles  Wilkins 
wished  to  see  her  in  the  parlor.  The  young  man 
still  retained  his  room,  though  he  seldom  occupied 
it,  and  Bessie  supposed  his  errand  on  this  particular 
occasion  was  to  give  notice  of  its  intended  surrender. 
She  was  rather  sorry,  as  there  were  already  several 
rooms  vacant,  and  the  prospect  was  that  Col.  Fuller's 
suite  would  soon  be  added  to  the  number,  but  she 


CHAMPAGNE  AND  GRAPES.  279 

put  the  best  face  possible  on  the  matter  and  re- 
sponded at  once  to  the  call. 

"  I — I  beg  your  paw-don,"  stammered  Charlie,  in 
his  awkward  way.  "  It  is  weally  too  bad  to  trouble 
you  over  such  a  small  mat-ter.  But  I  want  to  know, 
you  know,  whether  you  can  give  me  the  ad-dwess  of 
— of  Mr.  Mor-ley." 

Bessie  blushed  scarlet. 

"  Mr.  Morley,"  she  repeated.  "  Mr.  Clyde  Mor- 
ley  ?" 

It  was  a  pardonable  evasion  and  Wilklns  so  con- 
sidered it. 

"  N-no,  if  you  pi-ease,"  he  answered.  "  Mr.  Fwank 
Morley.  You  see  he  belongs  to  a  cl-ub  with  me  and 
there  are  seve-wal  let-ters  wait-ing  the-re  for  him." 

Miss  Bessie  replied  that  she  did  not  know  the 
address  of  Mr.  Frank.  Her  agitation  as  she  pro- 
nounced the  name  was  not  lost  on  the  observer. 

"  I  was  afwaid — that  is,  I  thought  paw-sibly — you 
— you  wouldnt  know,  you  know,"  said  Charlie,  as  if 
he  was  glad,  on  the  whole,  to  hear  it.  "  Now,  there 
is  ano-ther  thing  I  want  to  see  a-bout.  Could  I 
change  my  woom  to  one  on  a  low-er  floor,  you 
know  ?  Could  I — could  you  let  me  have  the  one 
Fwank  used  to  oc-cupy  ?" 

Again  the  crimson  swept  over  the  girl's  face. 
How  could  she  ever  forget  the  night  when  Wilkins 
opened  the  door  of  that  room,  and  what  he  must 
have  seen  and  suspected  ? 

"  I  will  inquire,"  she  said,  to  get  an  excuse 
to  leave  him,  even  for  a  moment,  though  she  knew 
very  well  that  the  room  was  to  let,  as  she  had 
shown  it  twice  that  day  to  applicants.  In  a  short 
time  she  returned,  after  bathing  her  hot  cheeks,  and 


280  AN   ORIGINAL   SINNER. 

said  the  room  was  at  the  service  of  Mr.  Wilkins  if 
he  wished  it. 

"  But,  excuse  me,"  she  added,  "  you  are  here  so 
little  now  that  I  was  afraid  we  were  going  to  lose 
you  entirely." 

Charlie  smiled  with  gratification. 

"  It  is  vewy  kind  of  you,  you  know,  "  he  managed 
to  say,  "to  think  about  me  at  all.  The  fact  is,  I 
have  another  woom — in  fact,  sev-ewal  of  them — in 
another  part  of  the  ci-ty.  But  I  wan-der  awound  so 
much  I  weally  need  this  one,  you  know.  Ya-as, 
you  are  vewy  kind  to  think  about  it,  bah  Jove  !" 

In  her  straightforward  way  Bessie  replied  that  as 
there  were  several  rooms  to  let  in  the  house  she  was 
naturally  pleased  to  retain  all  of  the  tenants  possi- 
ble, and  Charlie's  countenance  fell  a  little  as  he  real- 
ized that  her  interest  in  him  was  of  a  commercial 
nature  only.  He  had  been  building  rather  heavily 
on  her  statement  of  a  few  moments  back. 

"  I  can  get  you  some  fel-lows,  if  you  wa-nt,  you 
know,"  he  said,  rallying  himself  in  time.  "  I  know  a 
fel-low  who  would  take  the  woom  I  am  giv-ing  up, 
you  know.  His  name  is  Clarke  and  he  was  a  gweat 
fwiend  of  Fwank."  He  had  no  sooner  said  this  than 
he  wished  he  had  omitted  to  mention  the  latter  cir- 
cumstance. "Of  course,"  he  explained,  *  we  are  all 
f  wiends  of  Fwankie,  at  the  club."  And  when  he  had 
said  that  he  concluded  that  it  would  have  been  better 
to  have  omitted  the  latter  statement  as  well  as  the 
first. 

"  I  should  be  glad  to  let  him  the  room,"  said  Bes- 
sie, hiding  her  confusion  as  best  she  could.  "My 
aunt  depends  a  good  deal  on  her  rents  for  her  living, 
and  when  there  are  several  vacancies  it  is  unpleasant." 


CHAMPAGNE    AND   GRAPES.  28J 

Wilkins  spent  some  seconds  in  digesting  this  fact. 

"  Ya-as,"  he  said,  at  last.  "  It  must  be  dc-vilish 
dis-agweeable,  you  know,  to  have  a  lot  of  emp-ty 
wooms.  Why,  of  course.  But  I'll  fill  them  up  for 
you.  I'll  make  the  whole  cl-ub  come  here  and  woom, 
if  you  say  so." 

Bessie  glanced  at  him  with  a  feeling  of  uneasiness. 
Was  he  trying  to  make  love  to  her?  She  would 
have  stopped  that  in  short  order,  but  there  was 
nothing  in  his  face  to  confirm  the  suspicion.  She 
concluded  that  it  was  only  his  good-nature  that  had 
spoken,  and  she  thanked  him,  saying  there  were  two 
other  rooms  to  let  at  present  and  that  Col.  Fuller's 
three  would  probably  be  vacated  before  a  great  while. 

"Oh,  ya-as,"  he  replied.  "His  daugh-ter  has 
gone  away,  hasn't  she  ?  I  knew  Mel-ton.  Of  course, 
we  all  knew  Mel-ton  at  the  club,  and  we  were 
de-vilish  sorry  to  lose  him,  bah  Jove  !  We  knew  he 
was  twy-ing  to  get  the  gi-rl,  you  know,  but  we  never 
thought  he  could  do  it,  you  know.  He's  a  doo-cid 
lucky  fel-low  !** 

Miss  Bright  began  to  think  that  the  conversation 
was  taking  a  wider  range  then  she  had  anticipated 
and  brought  it  to  a  close  by  saying  that  she  would 
have  Mr.  Wilkins'  things  taken  to  his  new  room  and 
that  it  would  be  ready  for  his  occupancy  that  very 
evening.  It  was  only  an  hour  later  that  Charlie 
reappeared  at  the  house,  dragging  in  his  triumphal 
precession  Mr.  Silas  Clarke,  who  engaged  the 
chamber  on  the  upper  floor  with  very  little  ado.  As 
Clarke  had  recently  been  discharged  from  the  Even- 
ing  Sphere,  and  was  relying  entirely  upon  loans 
from  Wilkins  for  his  support,  he  was  much  pleased 
to  get  a  chamber  where  his  benefactor  would  be  so 


AN   ORIGINAL   SINNER. 

handy  ;  and,  as  Charlie  was  sure  to  have  to  pay  for 
it,  either  directly  or  indirectly,  it  did  not  much 
matter  to  Silas.  The  next  day  Wilkins  brought  up 
the  young  man  from  the  leather  store  on  High  street 
and  installed  him  in  the  other  vacant  room,  and 
Bessie  went  about  the  house  singing  for  the  first 
time  in  weeks. 

In  some  way,  not  very  clear  to  either  of  them,  Wil- 
kins managed  to  strike  up  an  acquaintance  with  Col. 
Fuller.  It  is  probable  that  a  present  of  champagne 
and  grapes  which  he  asked  Maggie  to  offer  out  of 
his  stock  one  evening,  when  he  had  a  little  party  of 
friends  at  a  caterer's  collation,  may  have  been  the 
basis  of  the  thing.  At  any  rate  Col.  Fuller  and 
Wilkins  found  themselves  on  a  very  good  footing 
with  each  other,  and  Charlie  got  into  the  habit  of 
spending  a  great  deal  of  his  time  in  the  military 
gentleman's  apartments.  The  Colonel  was  still 
confined  to  the  house  by  his  complaints — at  least  as 
far  as  being  able  to  go  to  his  club  was  concerned — 
and  he  had  been  so  mortally  lonely  of  late  that  any 
visitor  was  more  than  welcome. 

Charlie's  good-nature  was  a  sovereign  balm  for  his 
host's  occasional  lapses  into  ill-temper,  and  they  got 
along  together  famously.  On  some  of  the  brightest 
days  Wilkins  had  his  carriage  driven  around  to  the 
door  and  begged  as  a  special  favor  that  the  Colonel 
would  accompany  him  for  an  hour  or  so  into  the 
suburbs.  As  the  carriage  was  now  on  runners  it  was 
easy  to  get  into  and  Charlie  had  infinite  patience 
with  the  slow  steps  and  frequent  pauses  of  the 
invalid.  Add  to  this  that  all  the  latest  magazines, 
including  a  number,  both  native  and  foreign, 
devoted  to  army  matters,  were  brought  in  from 


CHAMPAGNE   AND  GRAPES.  283 

Wilkins*  room  weekly  by  Maggie,  and  that  Charlie 
made  a  martyr  of  himself  in  the  game  of  cribbage, 
which  he  detested,  it  is  no  wonder  that  he  filled  a 
very  important  place  in  the  dull  life  of  the  sick  man. 
It  was  to  this  condition  of  things  that  Mrs.  Melton 
.owed  her  freedom  from  the  presence  of  her  father 
much  more  than  to  his  actual  physical  ailments. 
The  Colonel  cherished  a  rather  bitter  feeling  toward 
bis  daughter.  He  was  glad  to  escape  having  to  be 
at  her  mercy,  as  in  his  weak  condition  he  felt  he 
would  be  in  her  New  York  home.  She  wrote  to  him 
once  a  week,  but  there  was  nothing  of  the  usual 
exchange  of  endearments  in  the  correspondence. 
There  never  had  been  much  of  that  between  these 
two,  and  nothing  of  recent  occurrence  was  likely  to 
make  a  change  in  that  direction.  Dr.  Melton  also 
wrote,  and  his  letters  were  of  a  kinder  nature. 
He  had  a  real  sympathy  for  the  invalid.  He  did 
not  intimate  anything  about  the  strained  relations 
between  himself  and  his  wife,  and  Col.  Fuller 
had  no  suspicion  of  the  lack  of  cordiality  that  pre- 
vailed. At  last  came  a  note  in  which  the  Doctor 
mentioned  the  name  of  Morley;  and  as  Wilkins  hap- 
pened to  be  in  his  room  when  the  mail  arrived,  the 
Colonel  read  one  paragraph  out  loud. 

**Mr.  Clyde  Morley,  whom  you  doubtless  remem- 
ber very  well,  is  staying  with  us  at  present.  I  found 
him  in  a  very  bad  state  of  health,  and  he  has  put  him- 
self under  my  care.  I  hope  to  bring  him  around  all 
right  in  a  short  time." 

Wilkins  had  difficulty  in  refraining  from  uttering 
an  exclamation  that  rose  to  his  lips.  The  words 
he  came  so  near  were  "  Qh«me-Gard  7* 


284  AN   ORIGINAL   SINNER. 

"  If  /  were  mar-wied  to  that  gi-rl,"  he  was  saying 
to  himself,  "I  wouldn't  want  that  pweacher  in  the 
house,  bah  Jove  !  He  was  com-ing  to  see  her  every 
day  for  weeks  when  they  were  he-re,  and  I  thought 
sure  he  would  mar-wy  her.  I  won-der  if  he  is  as  sick 
as  Melton  thinks.  Weally  I'd  like  to  know,  you 
know." 

A  more  than  usually  violent  attack  of  illness  made 
Mrs.  Bright  telegraph,  a  fortnight-Mater,  for  Mrs. 
Melton  to  come  to  the  side  of  her  fatner.  When  the 
Colonel  rallied  and  found  Lettie  there  he  asked  in  a 
harsh  tone  who  had  sent  for  her  and  plainly  showed 
his  disapproval  of  the  proceeding.  She  stayed  only 
one  night,  and  as  he  seemed  to  have  recovered  from 
the  fit,  she  returned  to  New  York  on  the  following 
day.  Wilkins  saw  a  good  deal  of  her  during  her  stay, 
for  he  was  constant  in  his  attendance  on  her  father, 
and  was  thunderstruck  in  the  change  that  time  and 
experience  had  wrought  in  the  delicate,  shrinking 
girl  he  remembered. 

*'  A  weg-ular  ti-ger-cat  !'*  he  said.  "  I'm  glad  it's 
Mel-ton  and  not  I  who's  got  her  to  look  after,  bah 
Jove  !" 


CHAPTER  XXVIIL 

"  THERE  IS  A  DEVIL  IN  HIM  !" 

Clyde  Morley  was  undoubtedly  a  sick  man.  Eir. 
Melton  was  certain  of  that,  but  what  he  could  not 
understand  was  why  no  improvement  took  place 
under  the  regimen  he  had  prescribed.  A  good  rare 


"THERE  18  A  DEVIL  IN  HIM!"  985 

iteak  and  a  bottle,  of  ale  in  the  morning  ought  to 
tnake  a  better  pulse  than  he  found  in  his  patient's 
wrist.  Roast  beef  with  port  and  champagne  at 
dinner  should,  according  to  his  calculations,  bring  a 
little  color  into  the  cheek,  and  not  a  particle  was 
visible.  The  heartbeats  were  uneven,  sometimes 
almost  imperceptible,  and  again  much  too  rapid. 
There  was  a  trembling  of  the  body  and  a  slight 
shaking  at  the  hands.  Dr.  Melton  wanted  to  bring 
in  a  brother  practitioner  and  get  the  benefit  of  his 
observations,  but  Clyde  would  not  hear  a  word  of  it. 

"  Why,  I'm  all  right!"  he  would  exclaim.  "I'm 
subject  to  spells  of  this  kind.  I've  had  them  before 
and  recovered.  Give  me  time,  that's  all." 

Mrs.  Melton  knew  that  Morley's  morning  steak 
was  untasted  and  that  not  a  drop  of  the  ale  had  ever 
gone  down  his  throat.  She  knew  that  when  Mark 
was  at  dinner,  Clyde  made  only  a  pretense  of  drink- 
ing wine  which  she  had  mixed  with  water,  and  that 
if  the  Doctor  was  out  he  never  touched  it.  She 
plead  with  him  more  than  once  to  obey  the  instruc- 
tions he  had  received,  but  he  turned  a  deaf  ear  to 
her.  He  had  his  reasons,  and  he  would  not  explain, 
and  that  was  all  he  would  say.  He  went  out  every 
morning,  pretending  to  take  a  ride  only,  for  that 
Mark  admitted  would  be  good  for  him  ;  and  when 
the  carriage  was  in  the  Park  he  left  the  driver  to 
doze  under  the  trees,  while  he  plunged  into  the  by- 
paths and  walked  until  he  could  walk  no  longer. 
But  the  length  and  rapidity  of  these  walks  were 
curtailed  now.  He  could  not  bear  such  promenades 
as  those  to  which  he  had  been  used.  He  was  cer- 
tainly fading  away. 

When  Mrs.  Melton  went  to  Boston,  he   left  tha 


236  AN   ORIGINAL   SINNER. 

house  £or  a  day  or  two,  promising  the  doctor  to  be 
careful  about  over-exerting  himself  and  to  keep  up 
the  full  measure  of  his  diet.  He  would  have  prom- 
ised anything.  He  spoke  of  a  friend  whom  he 
intended  to  visit,  and  said  he  would  return  in  a  few 
days.  The  truth  was  he  dreaded  the  lonesomeness 
of  the  apartment  while  Lettie  was  to  be  away,  and 
could  not  bear  the  thought  of  sitting  at  meals  alone 
with  Dr.  Melton.  Mrs.  Melton  guessed  the  cause  of 
his  departure  and  was  much  pleased  thereat.  When 
she  returned  there  was  a  terrible  day  or  two  without 
him,  as  she  did  not  know  his  address  and  he  had 
expected  she  would  stay  longer.  But  something 
happened  to  break  the  monotony  of  the  second  day. 
Frank  Morley  sent  in  his  card. 

"What  a  way  you  have  of  drooping  out  of  the 
clouds  when  one  least  expects  to  see  you  !"  was  hef 
greeting.  *'  If  you  had  come  at  any  other  time  I 
should  have  been  able  to  present  you  to  your 
brother,  who  now  makes  his  home  with  us." 

Frank  did  not  seem  like  himself.  He  bowed 
absently  and  said  he  knew  that  Clyde  lived  there, 
and  also  that  he  was  out  of  town,  or  she  might  be 
certain  he  never  would  have  called. 

"  Still  that  unaccountable  anger  between  you  ?" 
she  said,  reproachfully. 

"What  should  have  lessened  it?"  he  asked.  "Do 
you  think  it  makes  me  like  him  better  because  he  is 
here  with  you,  while  I — " 

He  paused,  as  if  overcome  by  his  feelings,  and  she 
felt  the  dampness  under  her  eyelids. 

"  Hush  !"  she  answered,  soothingly.  "  He  is  Ml 
invalid,  under  the  care  of  my  husband." 


"  THERE    IS    A   DEVIL   I3C   HIM  !"  287 

He  uttered  an  expression  in  which  a  sneer  was 
unconcealed. 

"  Then  he  must  be  recovering  rapidly,"  he  said. 

"  No.  He  is  growing  worse  daily.  I — I  wish  I 
might  ask  you  something,  Mr.  Morley." 

"  You  know,"  he  responded,  "  that  you  can  ask 
me  anything." 

"  Well,  then,  can  you  explain  why  he  refuses  to  eat 
and  drink  the  foods  and  liquids  that  the  Doctor  pre- 
scribes ?  He  is  committing  suicide,  to  put  it  plainly. 
Those  things  are  necessary  to  give  him  strength  ; 
and  yet,  knowing  it,  he  will  not  let  them  pass  his 
lips." 

Frank  smiled  ironically. 

"  It  would  not  take  me  long  to  assign  a  reason. 
There  is  a  devil  in  him — in  spite  of  his  theological 
education, — and  he  is  trying  to  starve  him  out." 

She  wrinkled  her  forehead  and  looked  blankly  at 
him. 

"A  devil?"  she  echoed. 

"  Certainly.  He  is  troubled  with  a  devil  that  yout 
presence  excites  and  that  certain  foods  and  drinks 
would  make  unmanageable.  He  is  not  committing 
suicide,  Mrs.  Melton.  He  is  being  murdered!  You 
are  slowly  doing  him  to  death." 

She  uttered  a  shriek. 

"  What  am  /  doing  to  him  !"  she  asked,  growing 
white.  "  I  have  urged  him  with  all  my  power  to 
follow  his  physician's  directions." 

He  laughed  in  her  face. 

"  No  doubt.  Well,  you  will  see  what  happens. 
Now,  I  am  going.  I  only  came  up  to  take  a  last 
look  of  you.  I  am  not  in  much  better  health  than 


288  AN    ORIGINAL    SINNER. 

he,  though  I  may  not  show  it  so  strongly.     You  will 
never  see  me  again." 

She  felt  a  shiver  passing  over  her,  as  if  her  hand 
had  touched  a  corpse. 

"  You  do  not  speak  of  dying  ?"  she  said,  trying  to 
smile. 

"  Yes.  Death  is  sure  to  claim  me  before  the  end 
of  another  year,  probably  much  sooner.  I  shall  not 
outlive  my  brother.  We  are  twins,  we  came  into 
the  world  on  one  day.  An  old  fortune-teller  once 
predicted  that  we  would  leave  it  in  like  manner." 

Mrs.  Melton  rose,  and  getting  a  shawl  from  the 
next  room  wrapped  it  about  her. 

"  Then  you  think  your  brother — "  She  could  not 
finish. 

He  nodded  with  an  air  of  conviction. 

"  I  saw  him  a  week  ago,  when  he  did  not  know  it. 
He  is  marked  for  the  grave.  Pshaw  !  Don't  start 
like  that !  Nothing  is  more  natural  than  dying. 
We  shall  go  about  the  same  time." 

The  shawl  was  not  warm  enough  for  her,  and  she 
drew  closer  to  the  fire  that  was  burning  in  the 
grate. 

"You  are  wrong  !  I  know  you  must  be  wrong  !" 
she  muttered.  "  Dr.  Melton  says  he  will  recover  if 
he  only  takes  the  medicine  and  eats  the  food  he 
orders.  And  he  must  do  it.  I  will  compel  him, 
when  he  returns.  He  has  no  right  to  end  his  life  in 
such  a  way." 

Frank  Morley  laughed  again,  recklessly. 

"  He  won't  obey  you, "he  said,     "  I  know  him  well 
enough    for   that.     It   lies    in    his   mind    this   way 
'  Shall  I  sacrifice  my  body  or  my  soul  f  " 


"  VHBRB    IS   A   DKVIL   IN   HIM  !"  889 

Slowly  the  thought  began  to  dawn  upon  her.  It 
jvas  some  minutes  before  she  could  speak  again. 

"  He  will  not  contend  that  he  has  a  right  to  kill 
fiimself  !"  she  said,  finally. 

"  There  are  two  deaths,  in  his  belief.  The  physical 
death  is  the  one  he  is  now  courting.  To  invite  the 
other  would  be  damnation.  If  there  is  anything  in 
his  doctrines,  a  legion  of  angels  will  bear  his  spirit 
aloft  when  it  leaves  its  earthly  tenement,  and  Satan 
will  gnash  his  teeth  with  rage  to  find  that  his  prey 
has  escaped." 

The  bitter  smile  was  on  his  lips  as  he  finished 
the  sentence  and  rose. 

"  Good-bye,  Mrs.  Melton.  Good-bye  for  this  world. 
If  there  is  another,  I  am  not  so  sure  we  may  not 
meet  again.  But  never  here;  never  after  to-day." 

He  frightened  her  so  much  that  she  could  not  even 
open  her  lips  to  bid  him  an  adieu,  and  long  after  he 
had  left  the  house  she  shivered  over  the  grate  with 
the  shawl  around  her. 

On  the  third  day  from  this  Clyde  returned.  He 
came  in  the  morning,  just  after  Dr.  Melton  had  gone 
to  his  office.  Lettie  heard  his  step  in  the  parlor 
and,  dressed  in  the  loose  gown  she  usually  wore  only 
in  her  chamber,  she  came  to  greet  him,  throwing 
her  half  bare  arms  about  his  neck  and  covering  his 
pale  face  with  kisses. 

"Oh,  Clyde,  Clyde!"  she  gasped.  "Why  have 
you  stayed  so  long !  I  dreamed  three  nights 
together  that  you  were  dead  !  You  will  not  die  ! 
Tell  me  you  will  not  die  !  On  the  day  they  take  you 
to  the  grave  they  will  take  me  also  !" 

She  talked  in  this  wild  way  until  the  servant  rang 


290  AX   OKIGINAL   SUTOEB. 

the  little  ball  which  showed  that  breakfast  was 
served,  and  he  had  no  opportunity  to  say  a  word  in 
reply. 

"  Your  brother  has  been  here,"  she  said,  as  they 
were  seated  at  the  table  and  he  had  begun  to  sip  his 
coffee.  "  He  frightened  me  so  !  He  was  looking 
very  ill,  and  he  said  it  was  predicted  when  you  were 
in  your  cradles  that  you  would  die  together  !  Oh, 
Clyde,  you  cannot  be  so  cruel  as  to  condemn  your- 
self to  death,  when  it  would  kill  me  to  lose  you  !" 

He  motioned  toward  the  kitchen  door  to  warn  her 
to  lower  her  voice.  Then  he  said  that  Frank  had  been 
very  foolish  to  repeat  old  wives'  tales  to  her.  People 
died  when  their  time  came,  regardless  of  soothsayers 
or  sybils. 

"  No,  no  !"  she  cried.  *'  If  a  man  starves  himself 
as  you  do,  he  hastens  his  natural  time.  I  remember 
when  you  were  strong  and  well.  Can  I  forget  the 
day  you  took  that  team  of  horses  by  the  rein  with 
one  hand  and  dragged  me  from  under  their  feet 
with  the  other,  as  easily  as  if  we  had  all  been  so 
many  toys?  And  now  you  are  slowly  letting  the 
life  flow  out  of  you,  because  you  will  not  take  what 
is  necessary  to  sustain  and  nourish  it.  For  God's 
sake — for  my  sake,  if  you  care  anything  for  me — 
begin  this  morning  to  take  the  food  you  need.  Try 
to  bring  back  the  strength  you  have  so  recklessly 
thrown  away  !" 

She  took  the  steak  from  under  its  cover  and 
pushed  it  toward  him.  Then  she  drew  the  cork 
from  the  bottle  and  filled  his  glass  with  the  ale. 

"Drink  it,  I  implore  you  !"  she  said,  holding  the 
tumbler  to  his  lips.  "  Drink  it !  How  can  you 
refuse  me  ?" 


"THERE  is  A  DEVIL  IN  HIM!"  291 

Gently  but  firmly  he  took  the  glass  from  her  and 
put  it  aside.  But  he  drew  her  sorrowful  face  closer 
and  kissed  it. 

She  burst  into  a  flood  of  tears. 

"  Won't  you  drink  it  ?  Won't  you  eat  the  meat  ?'* 
she  asked,  clinging  to  his  breast. 

He  shook  his  head. 

"  I  know  your  reason  !"  she  sobbed,  averting  her 
face.  "  After  a  great  deal  of  thinking  I  have  guessed 
it.  You  believe  you  might  become  dangerous  to  me. 
Yes,  that  is  it  ;  I  am  sure  that  is  it  !  But  it  is  not 
true.  I  am  the  wife  of  another  man.  You  could  not 
make  me  false  to  him.  I  am  certain  of  my  own 
resolutions.  I  love  you  ;  oh,  there  is  no  need  of  my 
telling  you  that !  Yes,  I  would  give  my  life  for  you, 
but  not  my  honor.  Recover  your  health.  We  will 
love  each  other — always — and  still  we  will  never 
forget  !  You  will  certainly  die  if  you  do  not  take 
more  nourishment.  Dr.  Melton  is  right.  And  it 
will  be  I  who  have  murdered  you  !" 

In  this  vein  she  continued  talking  to  him  until 
they  had  to  leave  the  dining-room.  In  the  parlor 
she  renewed  her  entreaties,  but  they  had  no  effect. 
All  she  could  get  from  him  in  the  way  of  answer  was 
that  slow  shake  of  the  head,  when  she  appealed  to 
him  directly.  The  only  time  he  spoke  was  when 
she  told  him  he  could  not  live  a  year  if  he  persisted 
in  the  course  he  was  following. 

"  It  is  better,"  he  said,  then.     "  It  is  much  better." 

That  afternoon  Dr.  Melton  proposed  to  his  patient 
to  exchange  bedrooms  with  him.  He  said  the  one 
Morley  occupied  did  not  have  enough  sun  and  was 
better  suited  to  a  healthy  man  than  a  partial  invalid. 
Clyde  tried  to  refuse  the  kindness,  for  he  was  already 


292  AN   ORIGINAL   SINNER. 

troubled  by  the  favors  he  was  receiving,  but  the 
transfer  of  his  belongings  had  been  accomplished 
before  he  was  consulted,  and  the  Doctor's  things  had 
been  taken  to  the  other  chamber.  The  invalid  did 
not  think  of  the  proximity  of  Mrs.  Melton  or  he 
might  have  held  owt  longer  against  the  change.  It 
was  only  when  he  awoke  in  the  middle  of  the  night 
and  heard  her  stifled  sobbing  through  the  connect- 
ing door  that  it  occurred  to  him  how  near  she  was 
now.  He  had  not  slept  very  well  of  late  and  it  was 
near  morning  when  his  eyelids  closed.  Long  before 
that  time  the  sounds  in  the  other  chamber  had  ceased. 

One  evening,  when  Dr.  Melton  was  out,  and  they 
were  sitting,  as  was  their  wont,  he  in  an  easy  chair 
and  she  on  a  hassock  at  his  feet,  Lettie  looked  up  at 
him  searchingly. 

"I  found  something  to-day,"  she  said.  "You 
remember  I  told  you  that  I  lost  it,  the  key  to  the 
door  between  his  room  and  mine." 

He  paused  before  he  answered. 

"  The  door  is  between  your  room  and  mine  now," 
he  said. 

"  Yes.  Of  course  the  door  is  the  same.  I  found 
the  key  in  the  pocket  of  a  dress  I  have  not  worn  for 
several  months.  See  1" 

It  was  an  ordinary  looking  key,  that  would  not 
have  attracted  attention  anywhere  else,  but  he  took 
it  in  his  hand  as  if  it  had  some  kind  of  magic  power. 

"This  will  open  the  door  between  my  room  and 
yours  ?"  he  said,  musingly. 

"  Yes.     I  tried  it  this  morning." 

Half  absently  he  placed  it  in  his  pocket,  and  she 
laid  her  head  again  on  his  knees  in  the  position  she 
had  been  when  she  first  spoke  of  the  key.  He 


A   HOUSE   OF   SIN.  293 

stroked  her  head  with  his  hand  for  half  an  hour 
more,  and  then  the  clock  struck  ten  and  they  sepa- 
rated. 

Clyde  did  not  go  to  bed  till  after  midnight.  He 
sat  in  his  room,  with  the  door-key  in  his  hand,  paler 
than  ever  in  the  moonlight  that  filled  the  chamber. 
Like  a  statue  he  sat  there,  moving  not  a  muscle, 
with  his  rapt  face  turned  toward  the  stars. 

At  last  he  took  from  a  drawer  a  photograph  and 
placed  it  on  the  outside  of  the  bureau.  It  was  the 
counterfeit  presentment  of  his  friend  and  guardian, 
Dr.  Welsh. 

The  sight  of  the  beloved  and  revered  features 
seemed  to  give  him  the  strength  he  needed.  Rais- 
ing a  window  as  quietly  as  he  could,  he  threw  some- 
thing far  out  into  the  night. 

"When  my  sins  are  read  out  of  the  Great  Book," 
he  whispered  to  the  portrait,  "you  will  rise  in  my 
behalf  and  tell  of  one  that  I  crushed  down  !" 


CHAPTER  XXIX. 

A   HOUSE   OF   SIN. 

For  some  weeks  there  was  no  change  in  the  con- 
dition of  Dr.  Melton's  patient,  except  a  steady  loss 
of  strength  that  could  have  but  one  ending,  if  con- 
tinued. Mark  finally  had  his  suspicions  aroused 
that  his  directions  were  not  being  followed,  and  set 
himself  to  ascertain  if  this  was  true.  Under  close 
examination  he  drew  from  the  servant  the  fact  that 
the  steaks  she  cooked  each  morning  were  found  un- 


294  AN  ORIGINAL  6INNEB. 

touched,  and  thai  the  ale  was  regularly  poured  into 
the  little  sink  in  the  dining-room  instead  of  being 
drunk.  That  the  dinners  were  not  partaken  of  with 
much  appetite  he  was  himself  a  witness,  and  the 
sleight-of-hand  tricks  by  which  Clyde  evaded  drink- 
ing the  wine  were  soon  apparent.  Melton  grew  indig- 
nant when  he  had  completed  his  discoveries.  He 
got  Morley  into  his  office,  and  had  a  straight  talk 
with  him. 

"  If  you're  bound  to  die  it  is  as  easy  for  you  to  do 
it  somewhere  else  as  in  my  house,"  he  said.  "  I  have 
tried  to  save  you,  but  I'm  not  able  to  perform  mir- 
acles. No  one  can  build  you  up  on  weak  tea  and 
buttered  toast.  I  don't  believe  you  have  swallowed 
a  drop  of  the  iron  I  gave  you.  I  never  heard  of  such 
a  case.  What's  the  matter  with  you,  man  ?  I  can't 
understand  you  at  all !" 

"  You  wish  me  to  go  away  ?"  asked  Clyde,  trem- 
ulously. "  Very  well,  I  will  go." 

"  I  wish  you  to  do  as  you  are  told  and  become  a 
strong,  healthy  man  again,"  was  the  impatient  reply. 
"  You  know  you  are  more  than  welcome  at  my  home. 
But — hang  it ! — you  are  ruining  my  reputation  by 
persisting  in  committing  suicide  under  my  roof. 
People  will  think  it's  my  treatment  that's  running 
you  down.  You  look  more  like  a  ghost  every  day." 

Morley  heard  him  listlessly. 

"  Shall  I  go,  then  ?"  he  inquired. 

"  No,  you  won't !"  replied  the  Doctor.  "  You  will 
stay.  But  I  wish  to  goodness  something  would 
happen  to  give  you  the  shock  you  need.  If  that 
clogged  brain  of  yours  could  only  get  a  good  jar,  you 
would  come  out  of  your  lethargy.  I'm  not  certain 
but  a  little  work  back  on  the  East  Side  with  your 


A   HOUSE   OF   SIN.  295 

missionaries  would  be  of  advantage.  At  present,  you 
have  nothing  whatever  to  think  of  and  your  hypo  is 
growing  at  a  fearful  rate." 

Strangely  enough  the  suggestion  in  reference  to 
the  mission  succeeded  in  arousing  Mr.  Morley  to  such 
an  extent  that  he  went  to  pay  a  visit  to  his  old  friends 
that  very  afternoon.  They  had  not  heard  from  him 
for  so  long  that  they  supposed  him  dead,  but  his  ex- 
planation of  illness,  borne  out  by  the  appearance  of 
his  form  and  face,  was  enough  for  them,  and  they 
welcomed  him  warmly.  One  of  the  ladies  had  just 
had  a  call  from  a  house  of  evil-repute,  where  a 
woman  was  said  to  be  dying,  and  she  asked  Clyde  if 
he  was  willing  to  accompany  her,  as  she  hesitated 
about  going  to  such  a  place  alone.  Really  pleased 
at  the  invitation,  and  glad  of  an  opportunity  to 
divert  his  mind  from  his  troubles,  he  accepted  with 
alacrity.  Procuring  a  carriage  they  were  driven 
to  one  of  the  East  Side  streets  in  the  higher  num- 
bers, close  to  Avenue  A. 

The  house  was  one  of  those  fearful  excrescences  on 
the  surface  of  our  civilization  where  unhappy  women 
spend  the  dullest  and  most  miserable  of  lives  in 
order  that  men  may  indulge  their  evil  propensities, 
and  that  the  "  madames  "  who  own  the  places  may 
accumulate  fortunes  without  personal  labor.  If 
every  girl  who  thinks  it  fascinating  to  begin  the 
downward  road  could  be  taken  through  one  of  these 
resorts,  and  comprehend  its  full  horror,  fewer  of 
them,  I  opine,  would  leave  the  path  of  virtue.  Even 
the  best  of  the  occupants  are  mere  slaves,  receiving 
literally  nothing  for  their  broken  lives  but  the  food 
they  eat.  The  terms  on  which  they  are  engaged 
prevent  their  accumulating  money  enough  to  enable 


296  AN  ORIGINAL  SINNER. 

them  to  go  away  with  anything  in  their  purses,  and 
the  remarkable  bookkeeping  to  which  they  are  sub- 
jected leaves  them  always  in  debt  to  their  land' 
ladies.  Things  are  done  every  day  in  houses 
of  this  kind,  in  enlightened  America,  which  would 
fill  r.he  streets  with  rioters  could  the  public  at  large 
fully  comprehend  them.  But  the  consciences  of  the 
male  patrons  are  easily  calloused  and  interference 
by  *:he  law  is  rare. 

Little  as  the  proprietors  of  these  houses  care  fof 
their  inmates  as  a  general  thing,  they  are  apt  to  have 
a  superstitious  fear  when  death  approaches.  Many 
a  poor  girl  hears  the  only  words  of  religious  consol- 
ation that  she  has  listened  to  in  years,  after  her 
hearing  has  become  dulled  by  the  cold  hand  of  the 
Great  Destroyer.  It  is  then  that  the  Catholic  priest, 
whose  words  of  warning  long  ago  passed  unheeded; 
the  Protestant  minister,  who  might  have  saved  this 
brand  from  the  burning  had  she  but  come  to  him — • 
step  softly  into  the  darkened  chamber  and  hold  be- 
fore the  glazing  eyes  the  crucifix  or  the  promises 
made  for  those  who  trust  in  their  Saviour.  The  mis- 
sionaries of  whom  Clyde  Morley  had  been  one  had 
of  late  done  a  good  deal  of  this  work.  They  were 
more  certain  to  respond  without  delay  than  some  of 
the  regular  pastors,  who  could  not  always  come  as 
soon  as  wanted.  Besides  this,  many  of  the  girls  pre- 
ferred to  tell  their  sorrowful  stories  to  the  good 
women  of  the  mission  rather  than  to  men. 

Before  the  bell  could  be  pulled,  Mr.  Morley  and 
his  companion  heard  the  sound  of  a  piano,  from 
which  emanated  a  lively  tune,  to  which  soprano 
voices  kept  accompaniment.  It  would  not  do  for 
those  girls  to  put  on  sober  faces  merely  because 


A   HOUSE   OF   STS  29? 

Azrael  had  spread  his  dark  wings  over  the  bed  on 
which  lay  one  of  their  number.  The  proprietress 
knew  that  customers  who  might  drop  in  wanted  to 
be  met  with  smiles  and  gaiety.  In  response  to  the 
ring  a  negress  opened  the  street-door.  Clyde  saw 
seven  or  eight  young  women  dressed  in  evening  cos- 
tume that  displayed  freely  their  arms  and  necks, 
peeping  with  an  air  of  pretended  mischief  through 
the  half-closed  hangings  of  the  parlor.  As  soon  as 
the  black  dress  of  Miss  Thompson  was  seen,  how- 
ever, there  was  a  quick  drawing  back.  The  singing 
ceased  abruptly,  and  the  tune  on  the  piano  died 
away  into  silence. 

"  Right  dis  way,"  said  the  colored  woman,  preced- 
ing the  callers  up  the  stairs. 

Mr.  Morley  hesitated  at  the  door  of  the  chamber. 

"You  would  best  go  in  first," he  said  to  Miss 
Thompson. 

The  colored  woman  conducted  Clyde  to  a  cham- 
ber adjacent,  and  left  him  while  she  took  his  com- 
panion into  the  presence  of  the  dying  one.  Clyde 
found  his  breath  coming  harder,  as  he  realized  where 
he  was.  He  had  no  doubt  this  room  belonged  to 
one  of  the  regular  inmates  of  the  establishment,  and 
his  mind  conjured  up  a  hundred  pictures,  as  he 
looked  about  him.  What  sins  had  not  been  commit- 
ted there  !  Year  after  year,  some  poor  girl  had  used 
that  room  for  the  most  unholy  of  all  practices — the 
selling  for  gold  of  the  heartless  kiss,  the  distaste- 
ful embrace  !  Upon  the  bureau  were  several  photo- 
graphs, some  of  them  of  men.  He  gazed  at  the  lat- 
ter with  a  horrible  fascination.  What  kind  of  crea- 
tures must  they  be  whose  likenesses  would  adorn 
such  a  chamber? 


298  AN   ORIGINAL  SINNER. 

But  the  faces  did  not  look  as  he  imagineu  they 
would.  Perhaps  some  of  them  were  brothers,  long 
lost — fathers  now  lonely  in  the  distant  home,  weep- 
ing for  the  children  who  had  disappeared  in  the  great 
maelstrom  of  life  and  never  been  heard  of  again. 
Or,  maybe,  they  were  lovers  of  the  old  days,  kept 
for  the  sake  of  what  had  been.  Or — and  here  Clyde 
gave  a  gasp — even  if  they  were  patrons  of  the  house, 
they  might  look  like  the  rest  of  mankind.  He  knew 
that  men  were  none  too  good,  at  the  best.  Some  of 
those  who  came  here  were  perhaps  no  worse  than 
others  who  preyed  on  fresher  fields,  who  prided 
themselves  on  their  superior  taste  and  would  have 
shunned  a  house  like  this,  as  if  some  infectious  dis- 
ease lurked  in  its  atmosphere. 

And  then  it  came  over  him  like  a  heavy  weight, 
was  he  himself  any  too  good  ?  Was  the  course  he  had 
pursued  for  the  past  few  months  much  better  than 
that  of  those  he  was  mentally  criticising? 

He  walked  up  and  down  the  floor,  his  head  begin- 
ning to  whirl.  There  came  into  his  mind  a  sugges- 
tion he  had  once  heard  of  the  best  way  to  reform  the 
world — the  easy  way  of  letting  each  man  reform 
himself.  What  had  he  been  thinking  of  ?  He  had 
tried  to  imagine  that  he  had  a  mission  to  regenerate 
the  earth,  and  he  had  been  unable  to  control  the 
wickedest  man  on  it.  Was  he  the  wickedest  man  on 
earth?  In  his  own  esteem,  yes.  He  thought  of  his 
life  since  the  day  he  left  Arcadie.  Had  it  been  any- 
thing but  evil?  It  was  true  he  had  committed  no 
really  criminal  act,  judged  by  the  laws  of  men.  though 
he  had  narrowly  escaped  even  that.  But  what  was 
he  doing  to-day,  in  the  home  of  a  man  who  had  tried 
to  befriend  him  ?  Was  his  position-  there  -?y  better 


A   HOUSE   OF   SIN.  299 

—was  it  not  infinitely  worse — than  if  he  spent  the 
same  time  in  this  house  which  filled  him  with  such 
aversion  ?  Surely  he  was  alienating  a  wife  from  her 
duty.  He  was  doing  what  he  could  to  keep  off  the 
day  when  she  should  be  reconciled  to  her  husband. 
With  all  his  good  resolves,  he  knew  he  had  been  dan- 
gerously near  to  the  chief  offence.  He  had  walked 
on  the  extreme  edge  of  a  cliff,  from  which,  if  he  once 
fell,  no  arm  could  ever  stretch  out  long  enough  to 
save  him. 

"But — I  love  her!"  came  the  excuse  ready  to  his 
hand. 

"  Have  you  any  right  to  love  her  ?"  was  the  answer 
of  his  now  aroused  conscience.  "  Have  you  ever 
read  the  tenth  command  ?  Have  you  any  morg 
right  to  steal  her  affection  than  to  take  Melton's 
purse  or  his  goods  ?  He  has  invited  you  within  hi» 
doors  with  full  faith  in  your  honor  and  integrity. 
You  have  no  business  to  remain  there  with  the  terri« 
ble  danger  staring  you  in  the  face  !" 

Morley  heard  the  voice  of  his  conscience  45  if  it 
was  a  human  tongue. 

"  There  is  no  real  danger,"  he  muttered  "  We 
understand  our  limitations.  Have  we  not  proven 
our  strength  in  all  this  time  ?" 

A  mocking  laugh  answered  him. 

"  Fool !"  it  cried.  "  Since  men  and  w«air*<n  were 
created  how  many  million  souls  have  deluded  them- 
selves with  this  vain  phantasy  !  Satan  is  amusing 
himself  a  little  longer  with  you,  but  you  will  surely 
be  his  prey  at  last  !" 

In  the  midst  of  the  agony  which  thi*  reflection 
gave,  the  colored  woman  come  to  say  that  Miss 
Thompson  wished  to  speak  to  him.  H«t  went  into 


300  AN   ORIGINAL   SINNER. 

the  hall,  and  learned  that  the  invalid  had  a  message 
which  she  preferred  to  intrust  to  the  gentleman. 
Before  going  to  see  her,  he  asked  the  attendant  if 
there  was  not  some  other  room  in  the  house  to 
which  she  could  conduct  Miss  Thomspon,  as  it 
seemed  a  dreadful  thing  that  she  should  be  taken 
into  the  chamber  he  had  just  vacated. 

He  was  told  that  it  was  the  only  one  available  at 
present.  As  he  heard  the  words,  the  sound  of  music 
came  from  the  floor  below,  and  loud  laughter  smote 
like  a  blow  upon  his  ears.  The  gaiety,  suspended 
on  account  of  the  arrival  of  the  missionaries,  had 
begun  again.  New  accessions  of  visitors,  who  had 
come  for  quite  another  purpose,  made  the  tragic  oc- 
currence over  their  heads  forgotten  for  the  time. 


CHAPTER  XXX. 

A     MAN     OF     GOD. 

Mr.  Morley  took  leave  of  Miss  Thompson,  and 
with  uneasy  feelings  entered  the  sick-room.  A 
wasted  form  lay  on  the  bed,  and  a  face  that  was  still 
beautiful  looked  at  him  from  the  pillow. 

"The  lady  tells  me  you  are  a  clergyman,"  began 
the  invalid  ;  but  he  stopped  her. 

"  She  is  not  quite  correct  in  that — I  have  studied 
but  I  never  was  ordained." 

"  It  is  just  as  well,  so  long  as  you  are  a  man  of 
God,"  was  the  feeble  answer. 

"  A  man  of  God  !    He  a  man  of  God  !"     How 


A.  MAN  OP  GOD.  301 

little  he  deserved  that  appellation  !  But  he  saw  that 
she  spoke  with  difficulty,  and  that  an  argument 
might  consume  valuable  time,  and  so  he  held  his 
peace. 

"  I  am  dying,"  pursued  the  voice.  "  And  I  want 
you  to  know  a  little  of  my  history.  Eighteen  years 
ago  I  was  the  wife  of  a  respected  gentleman,  mov- 
ing in  good  society.  A  friend  of  his,  as  he  supposed 
him,  became  infatuated  with  me.  My  husband  was 
of  an  exacting  temper,  and  at  the  time  he  appeared 
to  me  tyrannical.  I  exchanged  his  severe  rule  for 
the  arms  of  the  friend  I  thought  I  loved.  For  ten 
years  we  lived  together.  Then  he  deserted  me,  and 
I  fell  lower  and  lower — until — I  came  to  this." 

Had  she  been  drawing  an  indictment  for  the 
listener  in  advance,  she  could  hardly  have  seemed 
more  like  an  accuser. 

"  I  want  you  to  write  to  him  when  I  am  dead.  If 
my  child  is  living — I  want  her  to  see  my  face  before 
it  is  laid  in  the  earth.  I  wrote  the  address  I  last 
knew  on  this  card,  before  I  became  too  ill  to  hold  a 
pencil." 

She  drew  the  card  with  an  effort  from  her  bosom 
and  he  put  it  in  his  pocket. 

"  My  daughter,  if  she  is  living,  must  be  a  woman 
now.  See  her,  if  you  can,  and  impress  upon  her 
the  moral  of  her  mother's  end.  My  husband  is 
unforgiving,  but  he  may  be  glad  to  know  I  am 
through  with  suffering.  That's  all  I  wanted,  sir. 
Only,  don't  let  any  of  the  people  here  touch  me — 
after  it  is  over.  Ask  some  of  the  good  women  of 
the  mission  to  prepare  me  for  burial.  I  cannot  harm 
them  when  the  life  is  out  of  my  body.  Good-bye, 
sir." 


302  AIT  ORIGINAL   SINNER. 

The  last  words  were  uttered  so  faintly  that  Mr. 
Morley  looked  up  in  alarm.  He  saw  that  she  had 
spoken  her  final  farewell.  Having  delivered  her 
message  the  sick  woman  had  closed  her  eyes  in  their 
eternal  sleep. 

Springing  up  hastily  he  sought  Miss  Thompson. 

"  I  fear  she  has  gone,"  he  said,  hurriedly. 

Verifying  the  suspicion  was  but  the  matter  of  a 
moment.  Then  Clyde  told  what  the  dead  woman 
had  asked  with  her  last  breath  and  Miss  Thompson 
declared  that  the  request  must  be  fulfilled  to  the 
letter.  She  said  he  must  notify  the  proprietress  of 
the  house  and  then  she  would  remain  with  the  body 
while  he  went  to  the  mission  and  despatched  an 
assistant  to  her  aid. 

The  "  madame,"  a  stout,  over-dressed  woman  of 
fifty-five  or  so,  came  at  once.  She  was  a  little 
abashed  at  sight  of  the  mission  people,  but  began 
immediately  to  defend  herself  from  all  blame  in  the 
matter.  The  poor  girl  had  had  every  attention,  she 
said.  She — the  madame — had  paid  the  bills  out  of 
her  own  pocket,  as  "  Annie  "  had  nothing.  People 
must  all  die  sometime,  and  this  was  the  first  death 
in  her  house  for  more  than  six  months.  She  thought 
a  great  deal  of  "Annie,"  who  had  been  with  her 
nearly  two  years. 

But  Morley  cut  her  short. 

"  She  had  been  with  you  two  years  and  still  had 
no  money  of  her  own  ?" 

"  Oh,  they  are  so  improvident  !  You  have  no 
idea  !  If  she  made  forty  dollars  one  day  she  would 
spend  it  the  next  !  Never  had  a  cent  left,  sir — " 

He  stopped  her  as  soon  as  he  could  with  a  sharp 


'A  MAN    07   GOD.  SOS 

look,  not  liking  to  have  these  explanations  before 

Miss  Thompson. 

"You  have  no  objection,  I  presume,  to  our  taking 
charge  of  her  now.  I  will  send  some  of  our  people 
here  and  an  undertaker." 

The  madame  courtesied. 

"  None  at  all,  sir.  I  should  have  had  to  send  for 
the  charity  officers  if  you  had  not  made  the  offer." 

Never  had  he  known  what  heartlessness  this  dam* 
nable  trade  can  breed  in  the  breasts  of  women  who 
must  at  some  time  have  had  feeling.  He  told  Miss 
Thompson  he  would  go  as  fast  as  possible  to  the 
mission  and  would  attend  to  everything.  Once  out 
of  doors,  he  took  in  a  long  breath  of  the  pure  air  of 
winter,  with  the  action  of  one  who  has  been  in  a 
cavern.  Then  he  hailed  a  cab  and  was  driven  to  his 
destination. 

The  necessary  assistance  was  sent  in  the  course  of 
an  hour  to  the  aid  of  Miss  Thompson,  and  an  under- 
taker was  commissioned  to  go  to  the  house  with  one 
of  his  best  caskets  and  by  all  means  remove  the 
remains  to  his  rooms  before  he  left  them.  It  seemed 
to  Clyde  that  the  atmosphere  of  the  place  where  she 
died  would  trouble  the  soul  of  the  poor  woman 
in  its  struggles  to  reach  the  face  of  that  Father 
whose  invitation,  "  Come  unto  me,"  has  no  limit  or 
reservation.  He  proposed  to  assume  all  the  expense 
and  paid  the  undertaker  a  good  sum  on  account. 
"Annie"  had  placed  her  last  wishes  in  his  hands  to 
fulfill  and  he  would  not  be  false  to  them  in  anyway. 

A  feeling  of  gratitude  to  the  dead  woman  filled 
his  breast.  She  had  done  more  for  him,  he  believed, 
than  all  the  other  women  and  men  whom  he  had 
ever  known.  The  only  real  danger  he  had-  passed 


304  AN   OKIQINAL   SINNEB. 

through  was  in  connection  with  Dr.  Melton's  wife; 
That  danger  was  now  past.  It  had  been  blown  away 
by  the  words  he  had  heard  that  day,  even  as  clouds 
are  blown  away  by  the  southwind.  Lettie  Melton 
should  never  live  to  tell  the  story  of  the  friend  of  fur 
husband  who  had  been  responsible  for  her  ruin. 
Where  darkness  had  covered  his  mind  for  long  weeks 
the  sun  now  shone  effulgent.  He  would  go  to  her 
and  tell  her  what  he  had  heard  that  morning  ;  and 
she  would  see  as  well  as  he  that  everything  must 
come  to  an  immediate  end  between  them. 

With  a  step  more  elastic  than  he  had  felt  for  years, 
Clyde  Morley  walked  to  Forty-third  street.  He 
forgot  that  he  had  eaten  nothing  since  his  meagre 
breakfast,  though  it  was  long  past  the  hour  of  noon. 
His  weakness  seemed  to  have  disappeared.  He  had 
his  old  stride.  The  color  came,  albeit  faintly,  to  his 
cheek.  Hope,  so  long  a  stranger  to  his  breast, 
strengthened  the  action  of  his  heart.  At  the  entrance 
to  the  apartment-house  where  the  Meltons  resided 
he  took  out  the  key  and  turned  the  bolt  with  a  joy- 
ousness  to  which  he  had  long  been  a  stranger.  He 
was  not  afraid  to  meet  Lettie  now,  and  if  her  hus- 
band happened  to  be  at  home,  he  could  encounter 
his  eyes.  Henceforth  no  power  on  earth  could 
make  it  possible  that  he  should  dishonor  him. 

The  wife  was  in  the  parlor.  At  the  sound  of  his 
step  she  sprang  with  a  glad  cry  to  greet  him.  Some- 
thing in  his  face  made  her  pause  before  she  reached 
his  side,  and  she  searched  his  features  anxiously. 

"  What  has  happened  ?"  she  asked.  "  There  is 
color  in  your  cheeks.  You  look  as  if  you  had 
recovered  your  health.  And  yet,  you  shrink  from 
me.  Clyde,  tell  me,  what  is  it  ?" 


A   MAN   OF  GOD.  305 

The  bright  look  he  had  worn  faded  at  sight  of  her, 
even  at  the  knowledge  that  she  was  in  the  room. 

"  I  have  come  from  a  deathbed,"  he  said,  huskily. 
"The  deathbed  of  a  woman,  in  what  men  call  a 
house  of  pleasure,  and  what  angels  call  a  house  of 
sin." 

She  uttered  a  gesture  of  great  repugnance. 

"  Ugh  !  How  horrible  !  I  hope  you  have  washed 
yourself  well.  Is  it  necessary  you  should  go  to  such 
dreadful  places?" 

*'  No,"  he  said.  "  It  was  not  necessary,  but  I  shjall 
always  thank  God  I  went.  For  that  poor  creature 
showed  me  the  pit  I  stood  near,  and  aroused  me  to 
a  full  sense  of  a  danger  I  had  only  imperfectly 
comprehended." 

She  tried  to  laugh,  but  the  sound  savored  of 
hysteria. 

"  How  melodramatic  you  can  be  sometimes.  Pray 
tell  me  in  what  *  danger*  you  have  been,  for  I  cer- 
tainly know  of  none." 

Even  then  it  was  a  struggle  to  escape  from  her. 
Beautiful  and  tempting  to  the  last,  nothing  but  the 
dead  woman  and  her  story  could  have  kept  him 
steadfast  in  his  resolve.  He  spoke  feelingly. 

"  Lettie,  may  we  not  be  honest,  just  for  once  ? 
This  woman  told  me  she  had  been  an  honored  wife, 
and  that  a  so-caUed  friend  of  her  husband  had  per- 
suaded her  from  the  path  of  virtue  !  Do  you  think  I 
could  see  her  eyes  close  in  death  without  taking  an 
oath  that  such  a  sin  should  never  be  laid  at  my 
door  ?" 

Mrs.  Melton's  features  contracted  for  an  instanu 
Then  the  expression  changed  to  contempt. 

"And  were  you  ever  in  such  danger?"  she  asked, 
with  a  covert  sneer. 


306  AN  ORIGINAL   8INNEE. 

"  Oh,  you  know  too  well !"  he  groaned.  **  Ever 
since  I  have  lived  here — " 

He  was  stopped  by  a  slight  scream  from  his  com- 
panion. 

"Are  you  talking  of  me?"  she  exclaimed.  "Is 
that  what  has  been  in  your  heart  all  this  time? 
Clyde  Morley,  how  dare  you  utter  such  an  insinu- 
ation !" 

Nothing  but  the  dead  face  could  have  stopped 
him,  for  in  her  anger  she  was  more  lovely  in  his  eyes 
thatn  ever.  Nothing  but  the  dead  face  and  the  story 
he  had  heard. 

"  I  will  not  exchange  words  with  you,"  he  said. 
"As  soon  as  I  have  finished  my  obligations  to  that 
dead  woman  I  will  come  and  take  my  things  away. 
She  gave  me  a  card,  with  the  address  of  her  hus- 
band, and  she  has  a  daughter,  too,  that  I  must  notify. 
Here  it  is." 

He  drew  it  from  his  pocket  and  read  the  words  on 
it  for  the  first  time.  Then  he  gasped  and  staggered, 
letting  the  card  fall  to  the  floor. 

Drawn  by  an  unaccountable  fascination,  Mrs.  Mel- 
ton took  up  the  card  and  read  these  words  : 

Col.   HORACE    FULLER,  Governor's  Island. 

37  ist  Regiment. 

And  Clyde  had  to  catch  her  in  his  arms,  a»  she 
fell 


I  THINK   YOU   HAVE   KILLED   ME."  307 


CHAPTER  XXXI. 

"  I  THINK  YOU  HAVE  KILLED  ME." 

All  that  was  needed  to  complete  this  tableau  was 
the  presence  of  Dr.  Melton.  To  Clyde's  conster- 
nation the  doctor  entered  at  this  moment  and  stood 
looking  with  surprise  at  the  spectacle  before  him. 

"Your  wife  has  fainted,"  said  Morley,  made 
desperately  cool  by  the  very  peculiarity  of  his 
position. 

"  So  I  perceive,"  was  the  dry  reply.  "  If  you  will 
place  her  upon  the  sofa,  I  will  see  what  I  can  do  to 
restore  her." 

Clyde  had  been  so  astonished  at  Mark's  appear- 
ance that  he  stood  in  the  centre  of  the  room 
with  the  burden  in  his  arms,  making  no  move  to 
relieve  himself  of  it.  At  the  suggestion  of  the  hus- 
band he  turned  scarlet  and  complied  with  the  idea 
advanced. 

"  She  has  had  a  severe  shock,"  he  said,  thinking 
that  the  sooner  he  explained  things  the  better.  The 
position  in  which  he  was  placed  was  certainly  an 
awkward  one.  "Did  you  ever  hear  anything  about 
her  mother." 

The  Doctor,  who  had  obtained  a  bottle  of  smelling- 
salts  and  was  applying  it  to  the  nostrils  of  the 
unconscious  woman,  shook  his  head  without  look- 
ing up. 

"  There  was  a  rumor  which  I  used  to  hear  that  she 
was  still  living,  apart  from  her  husband/'  continued 


SOS  AN   ORIGINAL   SINNEK. 

Morley.  "  He  never  spoke  of  her  in  my  presence 
and  I  had  thought  little  about  the  matter  till  to-day. 
In  the  course  of  a  visit  that  I  made  this  afternoon 
with  some  of  my  old  friends  in  the  mission,  I  was 
present  at  the  deathbed  of  a  woman  who  gave  me  a 
card,  asking  that  I  notify  her  friends  of  her  decease. 
After  doing  what  was  necessary  at  the  undertaker's, 
I  came  home  for  a  little  rest,  and  happened  to  men- 
tion the  affair  to  Mrs.  Melton.  Tired  out  with  my 
exertions  I  had  not  yet  taken  pains  to  read  the 
address.  When  I  did  so  I  was  so  affected  by  my 
astonishment  that  her  interest  was  excited.  She 
picked  up  the  card  I  had  let  fall  to  the  floor  and  read 
it  before  I  could  stop  her." 

Dr.  Melton  easily  understood  what  had  happened. 
He  paused  in  his  work  of  restoration  to  inquire,  with 
a  shiver,  in  what  kind  of  place  Mrs.  Fuller  was 
found. 

"A  very  poor  one,"  was  the  careful  reply.  "It 
was  lucky — if  we  can  call  such  things  other  than 
providential — that  I  happened  to  go  there  to-day,  or 
she  might  have  been  buried  by  the  city.  Poor 
woman  !  She  has  suffered  severely.  But  her  body 
is  now  at  the  undertaker's  on  Fifty-fourth  street  and 
everything  necessary  will  be  done.  I  shall  notify 
the  Colonel  at  once." 

Mrs.  Melton  opened  her  eyes,  but  still  seemed  in 
a  state  bordering  on  stupor.  Dr.  Melton  went  to 
call  the  servant,  to  whom  he  gave  careful  directions, 
and  then  he  motioned  Morley  to  come  into  the  dining- 
room  with  him. 

"  There  is  nothing  more  for  you  to  do,  now  that  I 
have  been  notified,"  he  said,  with  a  touch  of  pride, 
**  This  person,  whatever  her  faults  may  have  been. 


"l   THINK   YOU   HAVE    KILLED   ME."  309 

and  I  fear  they  were  many,  was  the  mother  of  my 
wife.  It  is  for  me  to  do  all  things  necessary  and  to 
pay  all  expenses.  I  cannot  allow  any  one  to  relieve 
me  in  the  slightest  degree  of  a  plain  obligation." 

Morley  bowed  with  politeness. 

"  It  was  certainly  my  intention  to  tell  you  as  soon 
as  you  arrived.  Had  I  dreamed  of  such  a  possibility 
as  has  since  developed  I  should  have  gone  directly 
to  your  office.  But,  especially  in  view  of  the  illness 
of  Mrs.  Melton,  which  may  hinder  you  in  leaving  the 
house,  may  I  not  be  your  agent  in  attending  to  some 
of  the  details.  I  shall  be  glad  to  serve  you." 

The  tinge  of  pique  that  had  overcast  the  mind  of 
Dr.  Melton  when  he  found  his  wife  in  the  arms  of 
another  man  began  to  disappear.  He  knew  of  no 
reason  why  he  ought  to  doubt  the  plain,  straightfor- 
ward statement  he  had  heard. 

"  Thank  you,"  he  stammered.  "  There  is  one 
thing  you  can  do,  if  you  feel  able  to  undertake  it. 
You  can  go  to  Boston  and  consult  with  Col.  Fuller. 
When  you  have  learned  his  wishes  and  have  notified 
me,  I  will  act  accordingly." 

Clyde  replied  at  once  that  he  would  gladly  do  this. 
As  the  boats  had  already  departed,  and  as  one  train 
would  answer  as  well  as  another,  he  went  to  his  room, 
where,  while  waiting  for  the  dinner  to  be  served,  he 
packed  his  things. 

In  spite  of  the  sad  events  of  the  day  he  felt  better 
than  he  had  for  months.  A  great  load  seemed 
lifted  from  his  shoulders.  The  death  of  one  person 
had  given  life  to  another.  He  would  go  to  Boston 
and  transact  the  business  intrusted  to  him  and  when 
he  returned  he  would  remove  his  belongings  from 
the  house  of  the  Meltons.  He  felt  that  he  now  had 


310  AN    ORIGINAL   MNNEB. 

the  strength  to  begin  the  work  ef  life  in  earnest,  and 
that  the  peculiar  form  of  temptation  which  had  so 
long  assailed  him  could  never  again  play  havoc  with 
his  brain. 

Dr.  Melton  was  so  thoroughly  ashamed  of  the 
momentary  suspicion  that  had  come  unbidden  into 
his  mind,  that  he  came  to  ask  Clyde  if  he  would 
dine  alone  and  afterwards  remain  with  Mrs.  Melton 
while  he  himself  dined.  This  request  was  complied 
with.  Clyde  felt  so  absolutely  certain  of  himself 
now  that  he  even  drank  a  glass  of  the  port  wine 
which  he  had  been  in  the  habit  of  evading.  His 
appetite  was  not  very  good,  however,  and  he  was 
soon  ready  to  relieve  the  doctor.  Mrs.  Melton  lay 
on  the  sofa  where  he  had  placed  her,  having  declined 
to  be  taken  to  her  chamber.  She  had  not  spoken, 
but  the  physician  knew  that  she  was  out  of  danger, 
and  went  to  his  dinner  with  the  conviction  that  she 
was  bearing  the  ordeal  very  well. 

"  I  think  you  have  killed  me,"  came  from  her  lips, 
the  minute  the  dining-room  door  closed  after  the 
form  of  her  husband. 

"I — I  am  very  sorry,"  Clyde  answered.  "It  was 
careless  of  me  not  to  look  at  that  card  ;  but  how 
could  I  suspect  the  dreadful  truth  ?" 

She  uttered  an  exclamation  of  impatience. 

"  Don't  tell  me  you  mind  that,"  she  said,  spitefully. 
"  It  gave  you  an  opportunity  for  a  melodramatic 
effect  such  as  you  admire.  And  you  seem  deter- 
mined to  misunderstand.  It  is  not  for  my  mother 
that  I  care  so  much.  Now,  don't  assume  that 
expression,  for  it  is  nothing  strange.  I  have  no 
recollection  of  her.  She  deserted  me  at  an  age 
when  her  first  duty  was  to  the  helpless  one  she  left. 


*I  THINK   YOU    HAVE    KILLED   MB."  311 

She  could  not  bear  my  father's  harsh  temper,  but 
she  was  willing /should  endure  it.  What  troubles 
me  is  that  through  her  I  am  become  in  your  eye«  a 
contemptible  thing,  capable  of  any  infamy.  I  have 
been  foolish  enough  to  try  to  get  a  little  pleasure 
out  of  an  acquaintance  that  I  ought  to  have  known 
would  bring  wretchedness.  It  was  all  that  made  my 
existence  endurable  and  I  do  not  care  now  how 
soon  everything  ends  !" 

Again  he  felt  the  strong  inclination  to  surrender, 
to  take  her  hands  in  his  and  tell  her  he  never  could 
leave  her,  that  he  should  love  her  as  long  as  he  lived. 
But  the  power  of  resistance  had  come,  too,  and  he 
exerted  it  with  good  effect. 

"  There  will  be  but  a  few  moments  for  us  to  talk 
of  these  things,"  he  said,  gently.  "  I  also  have 
walked  in  the  '  Valley  of  the  Shadow,'  and  I  know 
the  terror  of  the  road.  Dr.  Melton  was  right  when 
he  told  me  I  was  deliberately  committing  suicide.  I 
purposely  abstained  from  everything  that  might 
strengthen  and  build  up  my  body.  And  I  did  more 
than  that.  A  dozen  times,  fearing  that  the  work  I 
had  begun  was  proceeding  too  slowly,  I  opened  my 
veins." 

She  made  a  gesture  of  horror. 

"  Yes,"  he  said,  "  I  have  tried  to  keep  as  near  the 
grave  as  possible  without  actually  plunging  in, 
though  could  I  have  taken  the  leap  without  dread 
of  the  Hereafter  I  would  have  done  it  long  ago.  My 
passion  for  you  could  not  be  stilled  except  by  such 
extreme  measures.  I  have  felt  day  after  day  that  I 
had  no  business  to  remain  here,  though  I  could  not 
tear  myself  away.  But,  Lettie,"  here  his  voice  trem- 
bled, "  the  scene  I  witnessed  this  afternoon — " 


312  AN   ORIGINAL   SINNER. 

She  stopped  him  with  a  movement  of  her  hand  and 
turned  her  face  away.  Then  came  a  torrent  of  tears 
that  shook  her  frame.  He  waited  till  the  storm  had 
past,  thinking  it  might  be  for  the  best,  and  when  she 
had  dried  her  eyes  he  proceeded  : 

"  I  have  been  making  a  great  mistake.  I  should 
have  known  long  ago  that  I  was  unfitted  for  the 
ministry,  and  have  entered  upon  some  secular  pro- 
fession less  exacting  in  its  demands.  My  desire 
to  please  the  good  clergyman  in  whose  care  I  was 
placed  led  me  into  many  difficulties.  In  trying  to 
become  too  great  a  saint  I  was  in  danger  of  making 
myself  one  of  the  greatest  of  sinners.  Should  I  ever 
recover  my  health  I  shall  know  what  course  to 
pursue.  If  you  meet  me  in  years  hence — " 

Mrs.  Melton  raised  herself  on  her  arm  and  looked 
at  him. 

"//"  I  meet  you  !     Iff  she  repeated. 

"  When  you  meet  me,"  he  corrected,  "  you  will 
find  a  very  different  Clyde  Morley  from  the  one  you 
have  known.  I  have  promised  to  go  to  Boston 
to-night  to  tell  Col.  Fuller  what  has  occurred." 

Had  she  lost  him  altogether?  Could  it  be  that  the 
one  bright  spot  in  her  life  was  to  be  permanently 
obscured  ? 

"You  will  waste  your  journey,"  she  answered. 
"  He  never  forgives,  and  from  the  time  I  was  an 
infant  he  has  never  spoken  of  her  to  me." 

"  It  is  necessary  to  inform  him,"  he  replied. 
"  After  that,  we  shall  have  done  our  duty,  at  least." 

She  seemed  lost  in  thought  for  several  minutes. 

"  When  you  return,  you  intend  to  leave  us  ;  is  it 
not  so  ?" 

"I  must  !     You  know  very  well  I  must." 


"l  THINK  YOU  HAVE  KILLED  MB."      313 

She  put  on  an  air  of  determination. 

"  Then  I,  too,  shall  leave,"  she  said.  "I  cannot 
live  here  alone  with  him.  It  may  as  well  end  early 
as  late." 

"And  where  will  you  go  ?     Back  to  your  father  ?" 

She  shook  her  head. 

"  Never  to  him.     Anywhere  but  there." 

He  looked  much  troubled. 

"  Is  it  not  possible,"  he  asked,  earnestly,  "  that 
time  will  reconcile  you  to  your  husband  ?  He  loves 
you  sincerely." 

There  was  reproach  in  the  eyes  she  turned  on 
him. 

"  How  little  time  ago  it  is  when  you  would  have 
grieved  to  think  I  might  do  so  !  Ah  !  Is  there  any 
constancy  in  men  !" 

Dr.  Melton  entered  the  room  before  Clyde  could 
reply  to  this  thrust  and  looked  pleased  at  the  evi- 
dent improvement  in  his  wife's  condition. 

"  You  are  a  better  physician  for  her  than  I,"  he 
smiled.  "As  your  last  train  does  not  go  until  mid- 
night, would  you  be  willing  to  stay  here  while  I  go 
out  on  a  little  business  ?"  He  indicated  with  a  look 
that  he  wanted  to  see  the  undertaker.  "  I  shall  not 
be  gone  more  than  an  hour  or  two.  If  any  one  rings 
for  me,  send  them  to  Dr.  Ahern.  I  shall  not  be  at 
my  office  again  until — until  after  the — funeral." 

He  dropped  his  voice  at  the  last  word,  so  that  it 
was  rather  understood  than  uttered.  Mr.  Morley 
indicated  that  he  was  glad  to  be  of  any  service  and 
Melton  got  on  his  outer  clothing  at  once. 

"  You  are  much  better,  are  you  not  ?"  he  said 
coming  in  at  the  last  moment,  and  speaking  to  his 
wife. 


314  AN    OKIGINAL   SINNER. 

"  Oh,  yes,"  she  said.     "  I  shall  need  nothing  now.* 

"  Is  there  anything  you  have  to  suggest  ?"  he  in- 
quired, constrainedly. 

"  No.  Only  that  all  should  be  arranged  as  quietly 
as  possible." 

Dr.  Melton  said  "Certainly,"  and  with  another 
glance  at  his  wife's  face  and  a  professional  pressure 
on  her  wrist,  he  went  out. 

"I  shall  never  have  a  better  chance  to  talk  to  you," 
said  Clyde,  when  they  were  again  alone.  "I  want  to 
arouse  the  best  that  is  in  you,  so  that  you  may  help 
me  to  arouse  my  own." 

A  spasm  passed  over  her  face.  She  dreaded  to 
hear  what  was  coming. 

"  There  is  no  need  that  either  of  us  should  try 
to  deceive  the  other,"  he  went  on.  "  I  have  been — 
we  have  been — in  imminent  danger  of  breaking  the 
Seventh  Commandment  ever  since  the  day  I  moved 
here.  I,  at  least,  have  broken  the  Tenth.  For  I  have 
coveted  you,  Lettie,  and  have  even  been  in  such  a 
mood  at  times  that  I  would  have  even  committed 
murder  to  obtain  you  !" 

She  interrupted  him,  to  say  that  he  must  not 
imagine  things  like  that,  which  could  not  possibly 
be  true. 

"  Do  you  think  so  ?"  he  answered.  "  As  sure  as  I 
breathe  I  think  I  should  have  killed  Mark  Melton 
that  day  I  first  came  here  if  I  had  encountered  him 
in  the  hallway  as  I  went  out.  I  was  temporarily 
insane  over  you.  I  remember  praying  I  might  not 
meet  him,  for  I  knew  he  stood  between  me  and  what 
I  most  craved.  With  such  danger  perpetually  star- 
ing me  in  the  face  how  could  I  do  less  than  fight  my 
inclinations  with  whatever  weapons  I  could  obtain  ? 


"I   THINK   YOU   HAVE   KILLED   ME. 

I  had  no  moral  strength  to  resist  you  when  we  were 
thrown  together.  The  only  thing  I  could  do  was  to 
keep  my  physical  being  as  weak  as  possible.  I  have 
been  crazy  through  it  all.  You  are  right  about  my 
intentions.  I  dare  not  stay  here.  After  the  shock 
whicli  I  had  to-day  I  fear  I  should  make  shorter 
work  of  myself  if  I  found  that  I  had  relapsed.  I 
think  the  next  time  it  would  be  a  pistol  at  my  head." 

She  uttered  a  cry  and  put  both  hands  upon  the 
arm  that  was  nearest  to  her.  It  gave  him  satisfac- 
tion to  find  that  he  could  endure  her  touch  without 
feeling  his  resolution  giving  way. 

"  It  is  terrible,"  she  whispered.  "  Yes,  you  must 
go  !  You  must,  you  must  !" 

She  had  summoned  all  her  determination  to  aid 
him,  and  until  Dr.  Melton  returned  they  remained 
where  he  had  left  them,  with  hardly  another  word. 

"The  undertaker  tells  me  you  paid  for  everything 
fn  advance,"  was  the  Doctor's  greeting  to  Mr. 
Morley.  "  Of  course,  I  shall  reimburse  you  for  the 
outlay." 

"  As  you  please,"  responded  Clyde,  thinking  it 
foolish  to  dispute  the  point.  "When  I  settle  my 
bUl  here  we  will  consider  it." 

Dr.  Melton  did  not  need  the  expostulating  look 
that  he  saw  in  the  eyes  of  his  wife  to  assist  the 
reply  that  rose  at  once  to  his  lips. 

"  You  have  been  here  as  our  guest,  and  payment 
is  too  ridiculous  to  think  of.  This  is  quite  a  differ- 
ent matter.  I  know  Lettie  feels  as  I  do  about  it." 

Mrs.  Melton  indicated  that  her  husband  was  right. 

"  If  we  could  only  see  you  improve  in  health  as 
you  ought,"  continued  Melton,  "  we  should  be  mor« 
than  repaid.  I  want  you  to  promise  that  there  shall 


316  AN   OEIGINAL   8INNEB. 

be  no  evasions  hereafter.  We  want  to  behold  the 
robust  form  of  the  old  time,  the  hundred  and  eighty 
pounds  you  brought  to  Boston.  If  you  try  honestly 
and  do  all  you  are  told,  you  have  yet  a  chance." 

Clyde  said,  with  no  mental  reservation,  that  he 
would  begin  in  earnest.  He  added,  however,  with  a 
side  look  at  Mrs.  Melton — in  which  he  begged  her 
not  to  oppose  him — that  a  Southern  trip  would  be 
the  best  thing  he  could  take  at  that  season,  and  that 
he  had  thought  of  starting  upon  one  within  a  few 
days.  The  doctor  admitted  that  there  was  sense  in 
the  suggestion,  and  said  if  his  patient  would  only 
have  the  right  care  to  his  diet,  and  take  the  medicines 
prescribed,  the  journey  would  be  of  decided  advan- 
tage. 

"  But,"  he  added,  "you  really  ought  not  to  go 
alone." 

To  this  Clyde  answered  that  his  brother  Frank 
would  probably  accompany  him.  He  said  he  had 
heard  from  Frank,  who  had  also  been  in  very  poor 
health,  and  they  were  more  than  likely  to  go 
together. 

"  It  will  surprise  you  to  hear  this,"  he  said, 
"knowing  that  we  have  not  always  been  the  closest 
of  friends,  but  of  late  we  have  been  growing  nearer 
to  each  other.  He  is  acting  in  a  manner  of  which  I 
approve  more  than  formerly,  and  I  have  decided  to 
give  up  the  ministry  and  take  some  other  profession 
more  to  his  taste.  I  am  sure  we  shall  have  nothing 
to  quarrel  over  now,  and  if  both  of  us  return  with 
improved  health  and  spirits  we  shall  be  satisfied." 

Dr.  Melton  heartily  approved  of  this  arrangement. 
As  it  was  growing  time  for  Clyde  to  start  toward 


CLYDE  MOBLEY'S  DIARY.  317 

the  Grand  Central   Station,   Mrs.   Melton  took  the 
advice  of  her  husband  and  retired. 

As  she  quitted  the  room  she  cast  one  lingering 
look  at  their  guest ;  such  a  look  as  is  seen  on  the 
faces  of  condemned  men  when  the  handkerchief  is 
raised  to  shut  out  the  light  of  the  sun  from  their 
eyes  forever. 


CHAPTER  XXXII. 
CLYDE  MORLEY'S  DIARY. 

In  the  haste  of  packing,  there  was  one  thing  that 
Clyde  Morley  forgot,  when  he  left  the  apartment  of  the 
Meltons.  This  was  a  diary  in  which  he  had  recorded 
a  good  many  things  of  interest  to  himself  during  the 
previous  three  years.  The  servant  discovered  it  and 
brought  it  to  Mrs.  Melton,  who  said  she  would  see 
that  it  was  forwarded  to  its  owner.  But  having,  like 
all  women — and  some  men — a  certain  amount  of 
curiosity  in  her  composition,  as  well  as  a  special 
interest  in  everything  concerning  her  late  guest,  Let- 
tie  could  not  refrain,  before  sending  this  book  to 
Boston,  from  glancing  at  its  contents.  The  secrecy 
surrounding  the  entries  made  having  been  thus  vio- 
lated, it  can  do  no  harm  if  the  reader  of  this  story 
looks  over  her  shoulder  at  some  of  the  most  striking 
passages  : 

April  12,  18— .  "I  am  every  day  surer  that  I  am 
not  fitted  for  the  ministry.  It  will  break  the  heart 
of  my  good  guardian  if  I  tell  him  this,  but  I  fear  I 
shall  have  to  do  so.  I  looked  out  of  the  window  this 


318  AN   ORIGINAL   SINNEE. 

morning  six  times  to  watch  some  girls  going  by,  at 
the  hour  devoted  to  religious  meditation.  I  grow 
more  and  more  worldly.  Oh,  dear  !  I  wonder  what 
is  the  matter  with  me." 

July  21.  "  I  must  take  a  long  vacation,  where  no 
one  will  know  me  for  a  student  of  theology,  or  I 
shall  break  loose  in  some  way.  The  deference  shown 
me  here  in  Arcadie  is  more  than  I  can  bear.  I  long 
to  see  the  world,  to  breathe  the  air  of  freedom  !  I 
have  a  plan,  but  I  must  think  of  it  awhile,  to  make 
sure  there  are  no  flaws  in  it." 

July  27.  "  I  have  studied  it  all  out.  As  I  have 
two  entirely  opposite  natures,  I  must  divide  myself 
into  two  parts.  When  I  leave  Arcadie  I  will  take 
with  me  only  the  athletic  young  man  whom  the 
boys  at  Amherst  called  Frank.  I  will  leave  here,  tied 
up  in  a  package  for  future  use,  the  theological  stu- 
dent that  Dr.  Welsh  calls  Clyde.  Luckily  I  have 
two  names  as  well  as  two  personalities.  I  was  chris- 
tened Clyde  Frank.  As  Frank  I  will  goto  some  city 
where  I  am  not  known  and  live  the  life  of  an  ordinary 
youth.  Perhaps  a  little  of  that  will  be  enough,  but 
I  want  to  see.  What  shall  I  have  to  do  ?  Only  to 
change  the  style  of  my  garments,  and  the  manner  of 
my  speech,  and  to  grow  a  moustache  on  my  smooth 
upper  lip.  It  is  very  easy.  I  am  delighted  at  the 
prospect  of  giving  myself  a  free  rein.  I  shall  not 
do  really  wicked  things,  of  course,  but  I  shall  be 
able  to  act  naturally,  which  I  cannot  do  here.  But 
to  tell  the  good  Doctor  that  I  am  going  to  postpone 
my  ministerial  studies — that  is  the  hardest  thing." 

Aug.  4.  "  It  is  done.  Dr.  Welsh  has  heard  of  my 
intention  to  go  away  for  travel,  and  has  reluctantly 


CLYDE  MORLEY'S  DIAKT.  319 

given  his  consent.  I  can  hardly  contain  myself  for 
joy  ;  and  yet,  there  is  something  very  sad  about  it, 
too.  Next  Sunday  is  my  last  one  here.  I  can  feel 
already  the  invigorating  atmosphere  outside  my 
prison.  Nothing  can  stop  me  now.  I  read  yesterday 
of  a  child  who  was  restrained  so  much  on  Sunday 
that  he  asked  with  a  tired  look  if  it  was  always  Sun- 
day in  heaven  ;  and  on  being  told  that  it  was, 
inquired  if  children  were  never  allowed  to  go  to  hell 
a  little  while  to  play  !  I  feel  like  that  boy.  I  want 
a  chance  to  stretch  my  limbs,  even  if  it  is  in  sheol." 

Oct.  30.  "  Here  I  am  in  Boston,  at  the  Quincy 
House.  I  am  Frank  Morley — no  Clyde  about  it. 
I  am  studying  law.  I  have  joined  a  club,  where  the 
fellows  drink  and  smoke  and  tell  stories.  I  can  walk 
the  street  without  having  all  the  men  pull  off  their 
hats.  Hike  it,  ever  so  much.  I  have  let  my  moustache 
grow,  and  it  bids  fair  to  be  a  beauty.  There  isn't  a 
particle  of  black  in  my  costume.  I  write  to  Dr. 
Welsh,  but  I  send  the  letters  via  New  York  and  he 
thinks  I  am  near  there.  To  keep  my  promise  to  him 
I  study  theology  a  little  every  day.  The  strangest 
thing  is  I  haven't  felt  the  faintest  twinge  of  conscience 
yet.  My  life  is  one  complete  deceit  and  still  it 
doesn't  trouble  me.  (Is  that  true?  Is  the  present 
life  I  am  leading  the  deceitful  one,  or  was  the  life  I 
have  left  behind  me  the  fraud  ?)  Oh,  I  love  this 
freedom  !  It  makes  me  a  liar,  but  I  can't  help  it. 
It  seems  as  if  I  never  could  give  it  up." 

July  16,  18 — .  "  I  have  been  in  Boston  almost  a 
year.  Just  think  of  it,  almost  a  year,  and  no  nearer 
going  back  to  my  intended  profession  than  ever  ! 
In  fact  I  have  crammed  my  head  with  so  much  law 


320  AN    ORIGINAL   SINNEK. 

that  I  am  nearer  being  a  lawyer  than  a  clergymam. 
Have  I  been  very  wicked  during  these  eleven 
months  ?  Let  me  see.  What  do  I  do  ?  Smoke  a 
eigar,  go  to  the  theatre,  drink  a  glass  of  beer  or 
wine,  listen  without  protest  to  light  conversation, 
pretend  to  be  what  I  am  not.  A  terrible  list,  but  I 
don't  feel  its  wickedness  as  I  should  have  supposed. 
Really,  I  have  become  another  person,  instead  of 
merely  trying  to  assume  to  be  one.  And  this  is  not 
all — I  am  growing  sceptical  of  a  good  many  things  I 
once  accepted  without  question.  It  doesn't  do  for 
young  theological  students  to  mix  too  freely  with 
the  world  if  they  are  to  accept  as  truth  all  that  has 
been  told  them.  (Imagine  dear  Dr.  Welsh  reading 
these  lines  !)" 

Aug.  9.  "  I  have  talked  with  a  young  lady,  the 
first  one  since  I  came  here,  though  it  would  surprise 
most  of  my  acquaintances  in  Boston  if  I  were  to  tell 
them  so.  Mark  Melton,  my  dear  friend,  is  in  love 
with  the  daughter  of  a  retired  colonel,  and  I  have 
volunteered  to  help  him  win  her.  I  have  been  to 
the  house  where  she  lives  and  spent  the  evening. 
She  is  rather  pretty  and  her  boots  are  exquisite 
creations.  I  don't  think  she  is  the  kind  of  girl  I 
should  ever  fancy,  but  Mark  wants  her  terribly.  I 
am  going  to  try  to  hire  a  room  in  the  house  so  as  «c 
help  him  along." 

Aug.  12.  "  I  have  been  to  the  house  where  Mark's 
inamorata  lives,  but  cannot  get  a  room  just  yet. 
The  niece  of  the  landlady — Bessie  Bright — enter- 
tained me  nicely.  She  has  auburn  hair. 

"We  sat  alone  in  the  parlor  for  fifteen  minutes  and 
I  wasn't  a  bit  frightened  ?  Then  she  called  Miss 


CLYDE  MOKLEY'S  DIABY.  321 

Fuller  down  (Mark's  dear  one)  and  we  all  talked 
together.  I  can't  understand  how  I  carried  it  off  so 
easy.  I  think  all  there  was  of  '  Clyde '  in  me  has 
vanished.  He  would  have  been  scared  to  death  at 
the  idea  of  such  a  frivolous  conversation  as  we  had. 
Poor  Clyde  !" 

Sept.  17.  "I  live  at  Bessie's  house  now,  on 
Shawmut  avenne.  I  am  certainly  getting  so  far  out 
of  the  theological  rut  that  I  never  can  get  back. 
She  has  let  me  kiss  her  twice  !  She  is  a  sweet  little 
woman.  Lettie  Fuller  entertains  me  the  most, 
though,  with  her  quaint  expressions.  She  has  the 
brain  of  her  age  (about  twenty,  I  judge)  and  the 
experience  of  a  child  of  twelve.  She  doesn't  care  a 
sou  for  Mark,  poor  boy  !  but  I  am  going  to  help  him 
all  I  can.  I  must  close  this  now,  as  I  hear  Bessie  in 
the  hallway  and  I  want  to  try  for  No.  3.  (Am  I 
really  getting  wicked  ?)" 

Sept.  22.  "  Lettie  doesn't  like  me.  She  told  me 
so  to-day.  Well,  I  don't  much  care.  I  wish  I  never 
had  kissed  Bessie,  though.  She  drives  me  insane 
with  her  pretty  ways.  I  have  had  my  arm  around 
her,  I  wouldn't  dare  say  how  often,  and  every  time 
I  mean  it  shall  be  the  last.  If  it  keeps  OP,  I  am 
going  to  leave  the  house.  She  is  getting  to  think 
too  much  of  me,  and  it  is  all  my  fault." 

Sept.  26.  "  Mark  talked  seriously  with  me  to-night 
about  Bessie.  I  told  him  I  did  not  intend  to  marry 
and  he  gave  me  a  lecture.  I  shall  have  to  stop  some 
of  the  things  I  have  been  doing.  How  shall  I  man- 
age ?  I  must  go  away  on  a  vacation.  Ah  !  I  have  an 
idea.  I  can  go,  and  still  remain  in  Boston  !  Am  I 
not  a  dual  personality  ?  Certainly  there  are  two  of 


322  AN   ORIGINAL   SINNER. 

me,  Clyde  and  Frank.  I  wonder  if  I  could  carry  it 
off  so  as  to  deceive  these  people  who  have  seen  me 
every  day  for  a  year.  It  would  be  worth  trying. 
There  is  only  one  sad  thing  about  it,  my  handsome 
moustache  would  have  to  be  sacrificed.  But  I  believe 
I'll  do  it.  I  want  to  go,  on  Bessie's  account,  and  I 
don't  want  to  be  so  far  off  that  I  shall  have  to  give 
up  helping  Mark  win  Lettie.  It  looks  as  if  it 
would  take  a  good  deal  of  work  to  accomplish  that 
result.  Perhaps  Clyde  can  do  it,  though.  (Ha,  ha  !)" 

Oct.  14.  What  a  change  ?  I  am  Clyde  Morley, 
black  suit,  shaven  face  and  all  !  And  with  the  change 
of  costume  has  come  an  entire  change  in  feeling. 
I  look  with  horror  on  the  life  my  brother  Frank  has 
led.  If  I  get  an  opportunity,  I  shall  warn  the  women 
who  know  him  against  his  light  ideas.  Mark 
Melton  will  probably  call  on  me  to-day  and  he  will 
certainly  invite  me  to  Shawmut  avenue.  I  must 
undo  whatever  Frank  has  committed.  He  has  dis- 
appeared, and  I  trust  forever.  It  was  a  dangerous 
experiment  to  let  myself  get  into  such  a  wild  vein. 
I  cannot  understand  how  I  could  do  it.  I  tremble 
when  I  think  what  might  have  happened  had  I  not 
come  to  myself  !" 

Oct.  15.  "What  a  day  was  yesterday  !  It  proved, 
for  one  thing,  that  nobody  suspects  I  and  Frank  are 
identical.  Melton  took  me  into  the  Revere  Club 
where  no  one  recognized  their  old  fellow-member. 
But  what  happened  afterward  is  of  more  moment. 
The  running  down  of  Miss  Fuller  and  Miss  Bright 
by  the  horses  in  Park  Square  ;  the  fright  I  had  lest 
Lettie  should  be  injured  ;  the  rescue  that  Melton 
and  I  accomplished  ;  Lettie  lying  in  my  arms  t  I 


CLYDE  MOKLEY'S  DIARY.  323 

cannot  describe  my  feelings  when  I  thought  she 
might  never  speak  again.  Poor  Mark,  saving  Bes- 
sie, for  whom  he  cares  nothing,  was  a  picture  of  de- 
spair till  he  saw  that  Lettie  had  opened  her  eyes  and 
was  safe.  I  don't  know  what  to  think  of  myself.  It 
is  terrible  to  have  such  thoughts  as  run  through  my 
brain  about  a  girl  who  is  to  be  the  wife  of  another 
man  !  A  letter  came  this  morning  from  her  father, 
Col.  Fuller,  asking  me  to  call  that  he  might  thank 
me,  but  I  cannot  go.  Ah,  Frank  !  Frank  !  You  did 
not  take  all  of  your  sinfulness  away  with  your  clothes 
and  your  moustache  !  I  have  got  to  live  down  this 
sentiment  which  you  allowed  to  became  implanted 
in  your  breast.  I  can  do  it — there  is  no  doubt  of 
that — but  it  will  take  a  little  time." 

Oct.  26.  "  I  have  been  to  the  Fullers'.  Lettie  was 
in  and  the  Colonel  out,  when  I  called.  She  is  not 
as  dangerous  to  my  peace  of  mind  as  I  feared  she 
would  be.  I  talked  with  her  about  Frank,  asking 
her  to  caution  Bessie  not  to  think  too  much  of  him. 
I  did  this  because  I  know  he  must  return,  by-and-by. 
He  will  not  act  as  he  used,  but  every  temptation  must 
be  swept  out  of  his  way.  I  know  now,  more  than 
ever,  that  I  cannot  be  a  clergyman.  Perhaps  Frank 
is  not  as  wicked,  nor  am  I  as  good,  as  each  has  pro- 
fessed to  believe.  There  must  be  a  middle  ground 
for  us  to  meet  and  find  our  natures  in  accord." 

Nov.  10.  "  I  saw  Bessie  to-day.  Poor  little  girl, 
how  she  loves  me — I  should  say,  how  she  loves  Frank. 
I  warned  her  in  the  severest  language  against  him 
(against  myself),  but  she  would  not  believe  a  word. 
And  then  I  went  up  to  see  Lettie  and  learned — in 
suite  of  her  attempts  at  concealment — that  she  haa 


324:  AN   ORIGINAL  SINNEB. 

come  to  care  a  great  deal  more  for  me  than  she  has 
any  right  to  care,  under  the  circumstances.  I  must 
go  away  again,  leaving  Frank  his  old  field,  and  hop- 
ing he  will  use  it  wiser  than  he  did.  Lettie  is  safe 
from  him,  and  if  I  remain  here  another  month,  she 
will  be  lost  forever  to  Melton.  He  has  my  word, 
and  I  must  keep  it.  Let  me  not  begin  the  downward 
road  by  being  false  to  my  friend.  I  thought  last 
night  I  never  should  get  to  sleep.  It  is  a  good  thing 
I  discovered  the  things  that  are  in  me  before  I 
became  a  minister  of  the  Gospel.  Yes,  I  shall  go 
and  Frank  will  return.  He  will  at  least  be  less  of  a 
hypocrite  than  I,  and  I  think — yes,  I  am  sure — I  can 
trust  him  now." 

Nov.  29.  "  I  had  to  laugh  when  I  read  the  last 
entry  that  my  dear  brother  Clyde  left  in  this  diary. 
He  is  'sure'  he  can  ' trust '  me  !  My  only  fear  is 
that  the  false  moustache  which  I  got  in  New  York 
is  not  a  perfect  counterpart  of  the  one  I  shaved  oS 
to  accommodate  that  ungrateful  brother.  The  dealer 
says  nothing  will  endanger  its  safety  except  it  be  a 
too  warm  kiss  from  some  pretty  girl.  So  I  shall 
have  to  take  warning  when  I  meet  Bessie.  But,  1 
forgot  !  I  am  not  to  kiss  her  again,  so  the  moustache 
is  safe.  How  glad  I  was  to  discard  the  black  cloth 
and  the  artificial  voice  that  Clyde  affects.  With 
this  business-suit  I  seem  like  my  proper  self." 

Nov.  30.  "  The  boys  at  the  club  gave  me  a  recep- 
tion last  night,  unexpectedly,  and  talked  about 
Clyde  as  if  he  were  really  a  separate  individual. 
Nobody  noticed  anything  odd  about  my  upper  lip, 
so  that  is  off  my  mind.  Then  I  went  home  and 
Bessie  was  sitting  up  for  me.  Where  were  mv  reso- 


CLYDE  MOKLEY'S  DIAET.  325 

lutions  that  I  had  prided  myself  on  so  much?  I 
called  her  into  my  room.  I  was  kissing  her  to  dis- 
traction when  I  hurt  her  lame  arm  and  she  fainted 
dead  away.  But  I  bore  the  test  very  well,  after  all, 
for  I  immediately  restored  her  and  bade  her  good- 
night in  quite  the  proper  manner.  I  wish  I  hadn't 
kissed  her,  though,  for  now  she  will  expect  it  all  the 
time.  Oh,  I  am  always  doing  things  and  then  wish- 
ing I  hadn't  !" 

Dec.  10.  "  I  have  spent  a  good  part  of  the  after- 
noon with  Lettie  Fuller,  who  is  desperately  in  love 
with  Clyde.  Of  course,  if  she  won't  have  Melton, 
nobody  can  make  her,  and  if  she  insists  on  marrying 
Clyde  I  shall  have  to  submit  to  the  inevitable. 
There's  something  funny  in  it  (and  something  not 
so  funny,  too).  I  do  love  the  girl,  and  I  know  I 
mustn't.  Oh,  well,  perhaps  it  will  all  come  out  right 
in  time." 

Dec.  30.  "  To-day,  to  escape  Bessie,  I  was  sent 
into  Lettie's  bedroom.  (But  I  mustn't  write  any- 
thing about  that.)  " 

May  27,  18 — .  "  I  am  Clyde  again  and  very  mis- 
erable. I  am  at  Arcadie  and  every  day  Dr.  Welsh 
talks  to  me  of  my  duty.  If  he  only  understood  ;  but 
he  cannot!  At  heart  I  am  not  much  if  any  better 
than  Frank." 

July  24.  "  Once  more  in  Boston.  I  can't  sink 
much  lower.  I  have  thoughts  that  I  would  have 
believed  could  never  enter  the  head  of  Clyde  Morley. 
The  black  coat  does  nothing  to  keep  them  out  now. 
This  evening,  when  Col.  Fuller  spoke  to  Lettie  as  if 
she  were  a  slave,  and  made  her  obey  him  while  I  sat 
there  an  unwilling  witness  to  her  shame  and  sorrow, 


826  AN   ORIGINAL  SINNER. 

I  was  alarmed  at  the  love  that  swept  over  mt. 
Before  I  left  the  house  I  tried  to  say  a  word  in 
Melton's  behalf,  with  poor  results.  I  shall  tell  Mark 
to-morrow  to  marry  her  as  soon  as  he  can.  And 
even  then  I  am  not  sure  she  will  be  safe  from  me.  I 
ought  to  be  locked  up  in  a  jail.  And  all  the  time  I 
am  trying — as  man  never  tried  before — to  nx  my 
mind  on  things  religious,  as  I  promised  Dr.  Welsh  to 
do.  Was  there  ever  such  a  turmoil  in  the  head  of 
any  other  fellow  ?" 

Aug.  n,  18 — .  Another  apparition  of  Frank  took 
place  last  night  unexpectedly.  He  went  to  call  on 
Bessie  with  the  laudable  intention  of  saying  good- 
bye to  her  forever,  and  came  near  making  himself  a 
candidate  for  State's  prison.  He's  gone  now,  thank 
goodness  !  and  that  danger  won't  occur  again.  Bad 
as  Clyde  is,  he  has  some  sense  in  his  head.  What 
was  I  thinking  of?  If  I  love  any  one  in  the  world 
it  is  not  Bessie,  but  Lettie  ?  What  does  any  man 
think  of  when  the  devil  has  hold  of  him  !" 

Sept.  19.  "  Well,  something  has  been  accom- 
plished. Frank  and  Clyde  have  escaped  from  both 
the  dangerous  women,  or  to  put  it  more  accurately, 
the  women  have  escaped  them.  Clyde  has  written 
a  letter  to  Lettie,  advising  her  to  marry  Mr.  Melton 
and  saying  that  he  (Clyde)  has  left  Boston  per- 
manently. The  letter  was  cowardly,  but  there  was  no 
braver  way  out  of  the  awful  dilemma.  Frank  has 
sent  word  to  Wilkins  that  he  also  has  shaken  the 
dust  of  Boston  from  his  feet.  The  city  will  not  be 
cursed  with  either  of  us  henceforth.  The  death  of 
my  dear  guardian  and  foster-parent  has  affected  me 
greatly.  The  last  sound  his  ears  heard  was  my 


MOKLEY'S  DIAJKY.  $27 

promise  to  try  once  more  to  follow  the  profession1 
for  which  he  intended  me.  I  am  on  my  way  to  the 
West,  where  I  shall  be  able  to  go  on  with  my  nevr 
work  unmolested.  God  help  me  to  carry  it  out  I" 

Nov.  21.  "What  is  the  use  of  striving?  Fate" 
has  taken  me  back  to  the  East,  where  lies  my  chief  i 
danger,  even  to  the  very  city  where  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
Melton  are  living  !  I  have  been  to  see  her — now  the 
wife  of  another — and  there  is  nothing  of  my  good 
intentions  remaining  in  me.  I  might  have  been  a 
murderer  to-day,  had  I  met  her  husband !  Love 
her  !  I  would  die  to  possess  her  !" 

Dec.  17.  "  I  am  living  under  the  roof  with  her.  I 
have  not  the  strength  of  mind  to  go  away.  Dr. 
Melton  thinks  I  will  improve  in  health  there  !  He 
suspects  nothing  of  what  is  killing  me.  Slow  star- 
vation is  the  only  thing.  I  must  not  dishonor  my 
friend  nor  the  woman  I  adore." 

Feb.  2,  18 — .  "  I  cannot  write  much  these  days. 
I  shall  be  glad  when  the  end  comes.  The  greatest 
danger  of  all  is  averted.  She  shall  never  violate 
her  marriage  vows  for  me.  I  have  led  a  life  full  of 
mistakes,  but  I  will  not  add  to  it  this  crowning  in- 
famy. No,  God  helping  me,  I  will  escape  that. 
But,  Father  in  heaven,  how  I  love  her  !" 


These  extracts  and  many  others  did  Lettie  Melton 
read.  She  had  never  dreamed  of  the  identity  of  the 
Morleys,  and  her  eyes  opened  wide  as  the  fact  came 
to  her  knowledge.  But  the  revelation  of  Clyde's 
struggles  melted  her  to  tears.  The  record  seemed 
like  a  voice  from  the  grave.  He  had  gone  out  of  her 
life  forever,  loving  her  still,  and  yet  determined  to 


328  AN   ORIGINAL    SINNER. 

respect  her  honor  and  his  own.  She  had  never  cared 
as  deeply  for  him  as  she  did  when  she  put  down  the 
book,  but  she  would  not  have  recalled  him  to  her 
side  could  she  have  done  so  by  a  word. 

Several  days  later  she  took  a  pen  and  added  one 
more  paragraph  to  those  he  had  written. 

March  i.  "  To-day  I  leave  New  York.  I  have 
recovered  strength  of  will  enough  to  live  down  the 
mad  infatuation  that  has  done  me  so  much  harm.  I 
shall  take  the  medicine  and  eat  the  food  prescribed 
for  me  by  Dr.  Melton.  When  I  have  recovered  my 
old  physique  I  shall  live,  not  like  an  anchorite,  but 
like  a  rational  being  ;  not  trying  to  achieve  a  saint- 
ship  for  which  nature  never  designed  me,  but  a  man- 
hood of  which  I  need  not  be  ashamed.  And  when 
my  time  comes — I  shall  marry  "  (it  took  a  good  time 
to  write  that  word)  "  some  pure,  honest  girl,  in 
whose  society  I  shall  forget  the  temptations  that 
once  harrassed  my  soul." 

Lettie  kissed  the  book  a  thousand  times,  because 
he  had  held  it  in  his  hands  and  confided  his  inmost 
thoughts  to  it.  And  Lthen  she  sent  it  to  him  by 
express. 


CHAPTER  XXXIII. 

**WHAT    IS   MARRIAGE    FOR  ?'* 

When  Mr.  Morley  reached  Boston  he  found  that  a 
sudden  change  for  the  worse  in  the  condition  of  Col. 
Fuller  made  it  impossible  to  bring  to  his  atten- 
tion the  subject  that  had  caused  the  journey.  The 


"WHAT  is  MARRIAGE  FOR?"  329 

ex-officer  had  fallen  into  a  nearly  unconscious  state, 
and  his  old  friend,  the  army  surgeon  who  attended 
him,  told  Clyde  that  he  doubted  much  whether  he 
would  ever  rally.  The  Colonel  had  expressly  for- 
bidden that  word  should  be  sent  to  his  daughter, 
remaining  obdurate  to  the  end  ;  but  a  message  would 
have  been  dispatched  in  spite  of  this  had  not  Clyde 
appeared.  By  careful  questioning  Clyde  ascertained 
that  Dr.  Brennan  knew  of  the  trouble  of  years  ago 
with  the  young  wife,  and  he  told  him  what  had 
happened. 

"  Remember  her  !  I  should  think  I  did  !"  said  the 
surgeon.  "She  was  about  the  prettiest  woman  I 
ever  saw,  when  he  first  introduced  me  to  her.  When 
Coles  ran  off  with  her  he  was  the  envy  of  every  man 
in  the  regiment.  To  everybody's  surprise  Fuller 
made  no  attempt  to  follow  them  and  uttered  no 
threats  of  vengeance.  He  was  never  fit  for  a  married 
life,  and  seemed  almost  glad  to  be  relieved  of  it.  Of 
course  it  made  him  bitter,  and  if  he  had  happened  to 
meet  Coles  he  would  have  shot  him  without  doubt ; 
but  he  never  spoke  of  the  matter,  not  even  to  me. 
He  left  New  York  and  came  here,  and  since  then  he 
has  been  as  you  know  him.  It  is  not  strange  that  he 
should  fall  out  with  his  daughter,  for  he  must  con- 
nect her  with  the  mother  in  his  thoughts.  Well,  he's 
nearly  ready  to  be  mustered  out,  I  fear.  I  don't  see 
how  he  can  rally  from  this  illness.  The  lead  in  him 
has  been  there  a  little  too  long." 

Even  the  alertness  of  the  surgeon  was  not  prepared 
for  the  sudden  change  that  came  that  very  night, 
which  left  Lettie  Melton  fatherless  as  well  as  mother- 
less. Horace  Fuller  sank  to  sleep  without  a  word  or 
a  groan  ;  and  Morley,  who  had  been  induced  by  some 


880  AN   ORIGINAL   SIlfWHB. 

strange  presentiment  to  remain  in  the  room  with 
Charlie  Wilkins,  witnessed  the  final  catastrophe. 

Telegrams  exchanged  with  New  York  bade  Clyde 
have  the  remains  sent  there,  and  in  the  most  un- 
ostentatious way  the  husband  and  wife  were  laid 
side  by  side  in  the  cemetery  at  Greenwood. 

"It  does  not  matter  what  has  happened,"  said  Dr. 
Melton  to  Lettie,  "  they  are  married  still  and  they 
should  lie  together.  Perhaps  God,  who  can  see  so 
much  better  that  we,  will  find  palliation  for  what 
seems  to  us  so  hard  to  understand." 

Mrs.  Melton  was  touched  by  his  kindness,  and  in 
spite  of  the  little  love  she  had  felt  for  either  of  her 
parents,  she  was  more  lonely  than  ever  as  she  saw 
the  caskets  lowered  into  their  graves. 

A  few  days  later  Clyde  Morley  sent  for  his  things, 
which  he  had  carefully  packed  prior  to  his  departure 
for  Boston.  They  were  to  be  sent  to  the  latter  city, 
where  he  said  he  intended  to  spend  a  short  time  before 
undertaking  his  Southern  trip.  As  the  expressman 
carried  the  trunks  down  stairs  Lettie  could  hardly 
repress  her  tears.  What  was  there  left  in  life  that 
made  it  worth  living  now  ? 

Clyde  saw  a  good  deal  of  Bessie  Bright  during 
the  time  that  he  spent  in  Boston.  She  had  grown 
prettier  than  ever,  and  much  more  womanly,  since 
he  had  been  away.  As  he  meant  to  pass  some  weeks 
/n  the  city  he  engaged  rooms  at  the  Shawmut  avenue 
house,  taking  for  the  present  the  suite  that  the  Colonel 
had  occupied.  Bessie  found  him  not  at  all  disagree- 
able, especially  as  he  frequently  spoke  of  his  brother 
in  a  friendly  tone,  and  seemed  to  have  wholly  recov- 
ered from  the  feeling  he  had  once  entertained  in 
to  him. 


831 

Indeed,  Clyde  Morley  had  changed  in  almost  every 
way.  He  wore  a  brighter  smile  than  of  yore,  and 
the  abundant  food  and  wine  that  he  took  was  making 
a  marked  change  in  his  appearance.  It  did  not  give 
him  as  high  a  color  as  might  have  been  expected 
for  his  paleness  was  constitutional,  but  his  step  was 
more  elastic  and  his  spirits  certainly  much  improved. 
He  talked  a  good  deal  with  Bessie  about  Frank, 
saying  he  was  sure  there  had  been  a  misunderstand- 
ing that  time  would  right,  and  that  he  should  give 
his  brother  some  sage  advice  on  the  subject  when  he 
saw  him  in  Charleston  or  Savannah,  as  he  expected 
to  do  in  April.  And  Bessie's  cheeks  grew  rosier 
and  her  handsome  eyes  shone  as  she  heard  him,  un- 
til he  thought  few  girls  even  in  Boston — the  city  of 
beauty — could  equal  her. 

He  brought  home  books  and  read  a  great  deal 
and  the  works  were  not  on  theology,  either.  He  had 
given  up  that  study,  knowing  that  he  should  never 
enter  on  the  profession  to  which  it  led.  He  had 
little  business  to  do  in  Boston,  and  early  in  the 
spring  he  bade  good-bye  for  a  while  to  his  hostess, 
arranging,  however,  to  have  his  rooms  retained  for 
him,  as  he  said  he  should  not  be  gone  very  long. 

"And  shall  I  tell  Frank  that  you  are  still  true  to 
his  memory  ?"  he  asked,  with  a  gay  air,  as  he  was 
saying  farewell  to  Miss  Bessie. 

She  blushed  beautifully. 

"  You  may  say  we  shall  all  be  glad  to  see  him 
if  he  ever  returns,"  she  replied.  "  The  house  has  not 
seemed  like  itself  since  he  went  away." 

"I  will  tell  him,"  he  said.  "And,"  he  added, 
becoming  suddenly  graver,  "  could  you  not  give  me 


332  AN    ORIGINAL   SINNER. 

some  little  token  for  him — something  that  would 
convince  him  you  really  remember  him  still?" 

She  looked  up  radiantly. 

"  Ah,  Mr.  Morley,  your  brother  has  no  need  of  that 
from  me  !  I  never  cared  for  any  man  but  him,  and 
I  never  shall." 

Neither  of  them  knew  exactly  how  it  happened, 
and  Bessie  wondered  after  he  was  gone  why  she  did 
not  resist  him.  He  took  her  face  between  his  hands 
and  kissed  her,  sweetly  and  tenderly,  gave  a  long 
look  into  her  eyes  and  went  his  way. 

Charlie  Wilkins,  after  the  fashion  which  had 
become  a  habit  with  him,  had  been  growing  more  and 
more  tender  in  his  feelings  toward  Miss  Bessie  for 
some  weeks.  Having  been  compelled,  in  view  of 
the  awful  forecast  of  Silas  Clarke,  to  abandon  all 
intentions  of  wedding  Miss  O'Donaghue,  he  had 
turned  to  Bessie  as  a  natural  alternative.  It  was 
absolutely  necessary  that  he  should  be  very  much  in 
love  at  any  given  time  with  some  girl,  and  the 
more  he  looked  at  Miss  Bright,  the  more  he  con- 
templated her  disposition  and  her  personal  appear- 
ance, the  surer  he  became  that  he  had  been  in  error, 
and  that  this  was  the  one  who,  of  all  he  had  known, 
was  the  most  likely  to  make  his  life  happy  in  a  state 
of  matrimony. 

Before  addressing  himself  definitely,  however,  to 
Miss  Bright,  he  felt  obliged  to  consult,  as  he  had 
always  done,  with  his  Oracle.  Clarke  had  been 
gradually  sinking  in  the  social  scale  during  the  past 
year.  He  had  lost  his  position  on  the  Evening  Sphere t 
and  his  reputation  did  not  suffise  to  obtain  him  one 
on  any  other  newspaper.  He  was,  therefore,  in  plain 
English,  a  loafer,  and  to  tell  the  truth,  was  not  par- 


"  WHAT   IS   MARRIAGE   FOB  ?"  333 

ticularly  anxious  about  the  matter,  so  long  as  he 
could  "  borrow  "  money  enough  to  live  on  from  his 
good-natured  friend.  He  had  made  up  his  mind 
that  nothing  short  of  a  marriage  would  be  likely  to 
cause  Wilkins  to  cut  off  his  supply  of  pocket-money, 
and  was  ready  on  all  occasions  to  combat  the  least 
tendency  in  this  direction. 

Something  led  him  to  suspect  that  Miss  Bessie 
would  be  the  next  lady  upon  whom  Charlie  would 
centre  his  affections  and  he  was  well  prepared  to  meet 
the  suggestion  whenever  it  should  come. 

"  I'm  get-ting  doo-cid  tired  of  this  sin-gle  life 
bah  Jove  !"  was  the  way  Wilkins  introduced  the 
matter.  "  I've  picked  out  a  gi-rl  this  time,  old  boy, 
that  even  you  cawn'tfind  any-thing  to  corn-plain  of." 

Clarke  tossed  his  head  as  if  to  say  they  would  see 
Ubout  that. 

"  I  know  I've  made  mis-takes  be-fore,"  drawled 
Charlie,  "and  I  am  gl-ad  I  didn't  get  too  far  with 
them.  But  this  ti-me  I  have  se-lected  some-thing 
quite  differwent,  you  know.  I  haven't  got  any  Jew- 
ess, nor  Ger-man,  nor  I-wish  gi-rl  now,  bah  Jove  ! 
No,  I've  got  a  weal  up-and-down  Amer-wican, 
doncherknow." 

The  discouraged  look  that  covered  the  face  of 
Silas  Clarke  was  astonishing  to  behold.  Charlie 
felt  his  courage  giving  way  as  he  realized  that  the 
usual  opposition  was  to  be  forthcoming. 

*' For  heaven's  sake,"  he  broke  forth,  "are  you 
always  to  need  a  guardian  ?  Have  I  taught  you  noth- 
ing in  all  this  time  ?  An  American  girl,  indeed ! 
What  shall  I  do  with  this  fellow  ?"  he  cried,  appeal- 
ing to  the  atmosphere  about  him.  "  Shall  I  go  to 


334  AN   ORIGINAL 

the  commissioners  of  lunacy  at  once  and  have  him 
committed  to  an  asylum  ?" 

Wilkins  began  to  shake  with  alarm.  He  had  never 
seen  his  mentor  so  in  earnest  as  he  seemed  to  be 
now. 

"  W-wait  a  m-minute  !"  he  gasped.  "  L-Iet  me 
t-tell  you  who  the  y-young  1-lady  is.  It's  M-miss 
B-Bright." 

Clarke  threw  up  both  hands  and  clenched  his  fists, 
as  if  to  ward  off  an  attack. 

"  Come  !"  he  exclaimed,  when  he  could  get  his 
breath.  "  Come !  That's  going  too  far  !  Say 
you're  joking,  before  I  quite  collapse  !" 

"  W-w-w — "  began  the  astonished  listener. 

"Miss  Bright /"  cried  Clarke.  "Miss  Bright! 
Oh,  Lord  !" 

Wilkins  managed,  with  a  good  deal  of  difficulty,  to 
stammer  a  request  to  know  what  objection  there 
could  be  to  that  young  lady. 

For  some  minutes  Clarke  closed  his  mouth,  declar- 
ing that  he  would  not  speak  a  word  ;  but  at  Charlie's 
earnest  pleading  he  finally  surrendered. 

"Let  us  go  back  to  the  beginning,"  he  said,  in  the 
voice  of  a  man  who  has  little  hope  of  making  his 
auditor  understand  anything.  "The  first  girl  with 
whom  you  imagined  yourself  in  love  was  a  German, 
wasn't  she  ?" 

Wilkins  bowed  a  meek  assent. 

"  And  what,"  asked  Clarke,  with  the  manner  of  a 
pedagogue,  "  what  was  my  objection  to  that  girl  ?" 

Charlie  hesitated  an  instant,  and  then  ventured  to 
remark  "  Sauer-kwaut !" 

"Sauer-kraut?    No  !"  thundered  Clarke.    "Didn't 


"  WHAT    IS    MARRIAGE    TOB  ?"  335 

I  tell  you — did  I  or  didn't  I ! — that  the  first  thing  to 
be  thought  of  in  marriage  was  the  offspring  ?" 

"  Y-ya-as." 

"  If  it  hadn't  been  for  me,  what  would  have  been 
your  fate  at  the  present  moment  ?"  demanded  Silas. 
"You  would  have  been  father  to  a  miscellaneous 
collection  of  German,  Hebrew,  Negro,  French  and 
Hibernian  children.  Would  you  or  would  you  not  ?" 
he  demanded. 

"  N-no,"  stuttered  Charlie.  "  Not  to  a-all  of  them, 
y-you  know." 

"  To  every  one  of  them!"  repeated  Clarke,  with 
emphasis.  "  It  could  not  have  been  avoided.  Your 
residence  would  have  looked  like  a  non-sectarian 
orphan  asylum.  I  wish  sometimes — upon  my  soul  I 
do — that  I  had  let  you  carry  out  your  plans  !" 

Although  Wilkins  could  not  at  all  understand  how 
the  fearful  result  outlined  could  have  come  to  pass, 
he  began  to  feel  grateful  to  his  friend  for  the  interest 
he  had  taken  in  his  behalf,  and  also  to  experience  a 
sentiment  of  regret  at  having  reciprocated  this  kind- 
ness so  badly. 

"  T-that's  all  o-ver  now,  de-ar  boy,"  he  said, 
meekly.  "You  cawn't  say  that  Miss  Bwight  is  any 
of  those  dwead-ful  kinds  of  peo-ple." 

Clarke  whistled  a  lively  tune,  as  if  to  keep  himself 
from  utter  despair. 

"  Weally,  now,  can  you  ?"  asked  Wilkins,  help- 
lessly. 

Silas  turned  on  him  sharply. 

"  Let  us  go  back  to  the  beginning,"  he  said,  as- 
suming the  schoolmaster  again.  "  What  is  marriage 
for  ?" 

"  Off-spwing." 


336  AN   ORIGINAL    SINNER. 

"  Is  it  for  anything  else  ?  Is  it  for  amusement  ? 
for  instruction  ?  for  gymnastics  ?  Is  it  intended  to 
take  the  place  of  a  circus  ?  Or  a  ballet  ?  Or  an  ani- 
mal show  ?" 

Wilkins  shook  his  head  at  each  pause. 

"  Well,  tell  me,  if  you  can,  how  many  children  you 
expect  an  American  girl  will  give  you  ?" 

This  proposition  was  more  than  Charlie  could 
meet  at  once. 

"Do  you  know — or  do  you  not  ?"  asked  Clarke, 
contemptuously,  "  that  American  women  are  rapidly 
ceasing  to  become  mothers  ?  Have  you  read,  or 
haven't  you,  the  article  in  last  month's  Pacific 
Monthly  by  Professor  Hucklebush,  on  the  probable 
extinction  of  the  Yankee  through  the  refusal  of  his 
mate  to  breed  ?  Look  (in  you  mind's  eye)  at  the 
homes  of  the  purely  American  families  that  you 
know,  and  count  me  up  the  children.  In  some  you 
will  find  two,  in  more  of  them  you  will  find  one,  and 
in  most  of  them  you  will  find  only  pugs  and  poodles  ! 
Marriage  !  The  sacred  institution,  designed  for  the 
perpetuation  of  the  race,  reduced  to  this  level !  And 
you  " — he  addressed  Wilkins  in  the  tone  of  a  judge 
on  the  bench  to  a  culprit  at  the  bar — "you  mean  to 
add  your  guilt  to  this  damning  record  !" 

It  seemed  very  strange  to  Charlie  that  his  proposal 
to  offer  his  hand  in  marriage  to  pretty  Bessie  could 
be  strained  to  this  terrible  offence,  but  he  could  not 
see  any  flaw  in  the  reasoning  that  had  been  presented 
to  him.  He  began  to  stammer  that  perhaps  Bessie 
would  prove  an  exception  to  the  rule,  and  he  recalled 
with  delight  an  instance  that  he  had  known  of  in 
New  Hampshire  where  an  American  wife  with  whom 


"  WHAT    IS   MARRIAGE    FOR  ?"  337 

he  had  become  acquainted  in  the  course  of  one  of 
his  summer  outings  had  seven  healthy  children. 

"  Oh,  go  and  ask  her  !"  blurted  out  Silas.  "  Put 
the  case  to  her  squarely.  Tell  her  she  will  have  to 
have  seven,  if  she  marries  you.  Then  come  to  me 
and  tell  me  what  she  says.  You'll  find  that  such 
things  do  not  enter  into  the  calculations  of  the  pres- 
ent generation  of  American  girls.  They  want  hus- 
bands— oh,  yes  !  But  they  don't  mean  to  have 
children — oh,  no  !  Fifty  years  from  now  they  will 
exhibit  the  last  Yankees  on  this  continent  as  they 
now  exhibit  bisons.  A  century  later  articles  will  be 
written  to  prove  that  they  never  existed  !  And  it  is 
such  men  as  YOU  !" — he  said  the  word  so  loudly  that 
Wilkins  started  from  his  chair — "  that  will  be  to 
blame  for  his  extinction  !" 

"  Gwacious  !"  came  feebly  from  the  pale  lips  of 
Mr.  Wilkins. 

"You  must  never  think  of  this  again  !" 

"  Oh-me-Gard  !" 

Thoroughly  crushed,  Charlie  thought  the  best 
thing  he  could  do  was  to  vacate  his  room  at  Mrs. 
Bright's,  and  to  take  Silas  away  also.  This  did  not 
enter  into  the  calculations  of  the  humorist,  but  as  he 
was  sent  with  his  baggage  to  the  apartment  on  Marl- 
boro street  he  did  not  protest. 

Bessie  was  left  witli  two  chambers  to  let,  for  the 
young  man  from  the  leather  house  on  High  street 
still  remained.  But  she  did  not  think  much  about 
it  now.  She  had  had  three  letters  from  her  old 
lover,  Frank  Morley,  and  was  thoroughtly  happy 
again. 


338  AN   ORIGINAL   SINNEB. 


CHAPTER  XXXIV 

A    LITTLE    SLEIGHT-OF-HAND. 

The  reconciliation  of  the  Morley  brothers  seemed 
complete.  In  his  letters  to  Bessie,  Frank  spoke  in 
the  pleasantest  terms  of  Clyde,  saying  he  thought 
he  had  misunderstood  him  in  the  past,  and  that  he 
was  not  at  all  a  bad  fellow.  In  the  month  of  May 
Frank  came  to  Boston,  and  took  the  rooms  that 
Clyde  had  vacated,  in  the  house  of  Mrs.  Bright,  say- 
ing that  he  was  to  use  them  until  his  brother  should 
return,  and  that  perhaps  after  that  they  would  share 
them  in  common. 

The  meeting  between  Frank  and  Bessie  was  most 
affecting.  He  arrived  in  the  city  on  a  late  train, 
that  had  been  delayed  even  beyond  its  usual  time, 
and  she  was  sitting  up  for  him,  as  he  had  written 
that  he  would  surely  come  that  night.  Whatever 
had  been  strained  in  their  relations  was  dissi- 
pated by  the  correspondence  they  had  exchanged, 
and  when  the  door  opened  and  the  form  she  loved  so 
well  was  discerned  at  the  threshold,  Bessie  flew  into 
the  open  arms. 

Then  they  went  into  the  parlor — as  soon  as  they 
could  command  themselves  to  go  anywhere — and  for 
the  next  hour  they  acted  as  young  lovers  long  sep- 
arated have  a  right  to  act.  Few  words  were  uttered 
that  evening,  and  fewer  yet  were  needed.  It  was 
enough  that  they  were  again  together,  and  that  noth- 
ing could  henceforth  separate  them  from  each  other. 


A   LITTLE   BLEIGHT-OF-HAND.  339 

The  next  day  they  discussed  the  strange  events  that 
had  happened  since  they  last  met,  but  even  then 
there  were  some  things  over  which  a  veil  was  drawn. 
Nothing  was  said,  for  instance,  about  the  night  when 
Charlie  Wilkins  opened  the  door  so  suddenly,  "  think- 
ing he  was  on  the  floor  above." 

Frank  went  to  see  the  boys  of  the  Revere  Club 
that  week,  and  found  that  the  organization  had  dis- 
banded. One  or  two  of  the  members  whom  he  after- 
wards met  by  chance  told  him  that  it  could  not  sur- 
vive his  long  absence.  He  saw  Wilkins  one  evening 
at  a  theatre,  and  grasped  his  hand  with  the  utmost 
warmth.  Charlie  was  not  quite  certain  that  he 
ought  to  be  too  intimate  with  a  young  man  who  had 
shown  such  a  capacity  for  improper  conduct,  but  he 
did  not  know  how  to  escape  without  alluding  to  the 
past,  and  he  concluded  to  make  the  best  of  it,  and 
let  bygones  go.  When  they  had  set  down  together 
over  a  bottle  of  wine,  and  Frank  had  told  him  where 
he  was  located,  the  associations  of  the  house,  with 
his  recently  crushed  love  for  Miss  Bessie,  made 
Charlie  very  sober  ;  and  this  feeling  was  not  lessened 
either,  when  Frank  told  him  a  little  later — under  the 
strict  seal  of  confidence — that  Miss  Bright  would 
become  Mrs.  Morley  before  the  snow  fell  in  the 
winter  following. 

"Gwa-cious  !"  exclaimed  Wilkins.  "Isn't  that 
some-thing  vewy  new,  de-ar  boy  ?" 

"  Well,  in  one  sense,  yes,"  smiled  Frank.  "  But 
in  another,  no.  I've  had  a  tender  side  for  Miss  Bessie 
for  a  long  time.  Circumstances  arose  to  divide  us, 
as  they  will  with  all  true  lovers.  Now  everything  is 
all  right  and  the  day  will  be  set  for  October,  I  hope. 
I'm  not  good  enough  for  her,  Charlie,  and  between 


340  AN   ORIGINAL   SINNER. 

us,  no  other  man  is,  either ;  but  she  has  mercy. 
You've  lived  in  the  house  and  seen  a  good  deal  of 
her,  and  I  think  you  can  safely  congratulate  me  on 
securing  the  greatest  treasure  in  all  the  universe." 

Wilkins  was  so  still  that  Frank  began  to  suspect 
the  cause  and  was  sorry  for  the  poor  fellow,  who  had 
a  good  heart  under  his  peculiar  exterior  and  had 
done  many  a  friendly  act  for  him  in  the  past.  He 
tried  to  cheer  him  up,  without  avail,  however,  and 
the  pressure  of  Charlie's  hand  when  they  parted  was 
very  feeble  indeed. 

Mrs.  Bright  was  pleased  when  she  heard  of  the 
engagement.  She  had  always  liked  Frank,  and 
knowing  that  her  niece  would  probably  marry  some- 
one in  the  course  of  time,  she  could  not  have  selected 
a  husband  more  agreeable  to  her.  When  Frank 
talked  with  the  aunt  about  the  matter,  he  suggested 
that  she  give  up  her  house  and  come  to  live  with 
him  and  Bessie  in  an  apartment  block  recently  built 
on  the  Back  Bay,  but  she  did  not  like  to  surrender 
her  independence.  She  had  made  a  living  by  letting 
rooms  and  she  preferred  to  continue  to  do  so. 
Frank  promised  that  he  would  do  his  utmost  to 
aid  her  in  keeping  the  house  full,  and  that  he  and 
Bessie  would  call  on  her  frequently  and  expect  her 
at  least  once  a  week  to  dinner.  And  so  it  was 
arranged,  to  general  satisfaction. 

The  wedding,  when  it  took  place,  was  a  very  quiet 
one.  The  only  sensation  relating  to  the  event  took 
place  several  weeks  before  it,  and  was  confined  to  the 
prospective  bride  and  groom. 

"  I  cannot  marry  you,  Bessie,  my  love,"  said  Frank 
to  her,  one  evening,  "with  the  least  element  of  de- 
ception between  us.  I  am  going  to  make  a  revela- 


A   LITTLE   SLEIGHT-OF-HAND.  34:1 

tion  that  will  astonish  you  a  great  deal  and  perhaps 
try  your  nerves  a  little.  But  as  it  is  something 
which  you  ought  to  know — and  which  it  is  my  plain 
duty  to  tell  you — I  might  as  well  have  it  over." 

Pretty  Bessie  began  to  shiver,  for  she  did  not  like 
the  idea  that  there  had  been  any  such  secret  between 
them  as  these  words  implied.  But  she  looked  at  the 
loving  face  of  her  future  lord  and  said  she  would 
hear  anything  he  had  to  say. 

"  Oh,  it's  nothing  that  will  make  you  like  me  less," 
he  answered,  cheerfully.  "  But  still  it  may  shock 
you  a  little  at  first.  I  will  be  as  careful  as  I  can 
about  it.  Just  imagine  that  you  are  witnessing  an 
exhibition  of  legerdemain  and  you  will  be  all  right." 

Not  knowing  exactly  how  to  receive  this  speech, 
Bessie  sat  very  still  and  waited  with  some  trepida- 
tion for  Frank  to  proceed. 

"In  the  first  place,"  he  said,  "  according  to  the 
habit  of  all  sleight-of-hand  performers,  I  will  preface 
my  entertainment  with  a  few  remarks.  There  was 
once  a  young  man  in  a  village  called  Arcadie  who 
was  designed  by  his  pastor  and  guardian  for  the 
ministry  of  the  Christian  church.  This  young  man, 
whom  we  will  call  Clyde  Morley,  did  not  quite  fancy 
the  disposition  that  it  was  intended  to  make  of  him. 
He  believed  in  the  general  principles  of  religion,  but 
did  not  feel  competent  to  fill  such  a  place  as  the 
pulpit  with  credit  to  his  denomination.  At  least,  he 
thought,  before  he  committed  himself  to  his  guar- 
dian's wishes,  lie  ought  to  go  forth  into  the  world 
and  see  for  himself  what  sort  of  a  place  it  was, 
without  being  subject  to  the  restraints  that  hedge  a 
student  of  divinity.  So  he  went  forth  accordingly, 


AN    ORIGINAL    SINNER. 

and  passed  a  good  deal  of  time  in  such  an  investiga- 
tion as  he  had  contemplated. 

"  It  happened  shortly  after  this,  that  a  young  man 
made  his  appearance  in  a  city  that  we  will  call  Bos- 
ton, who  announced  his  name  as  Frank  Morley,  a 
brother  of  the  Clyde  Morley  aforesaid.  Those  who 
afterwards  saw  the  prospective  clergyman  were 
struck  with  the  similarity  of  feature  and  stature 
which  the  brothers  possessed.  As  they  spoke  of 
each  other  as  twins  this  was,  however,  easily 
explained.  While  looking  very  much  alike  it  would 
not  have  been  easy  to  have  mistaken  one  of  them 
for  the  other.  There  was  a  difference  in  their  style 
of  clothing,  for  instance  ;  Clyde  wearing  black 
invariably  and  Frank  the  brighter  colors.  Clyde 
was  shaven  like  a  priest  and  Frank  had  a 
fairly  well  developed  moustache.  Clyde  was  the 
paler  of  the  twain,  and  his  voice  was  differently 
modulated.  But,  more  than  this,  Frank  could 
always  be  found  with  a  gayer  set  of  companions 
than  his  brother.  In  short,  though  much  alike*  in 
height  and  feature,  they  were  very  different  men  in 
everything  else." 

Bessie's  heart  had  begun  to  beat  more  rapidly  as 
she  heard  him.  A  suspicion  of  something — she 
knew  not  what — harrassed  her.  Nothing  but  the 
smile  that  never  left  the  face  of  her  beloved  could 
have  kept  her  from  crying  out  with  alarm. 

"  Do  not  be  frightened,  little  woman,"  said  Frank, 
tenderly.  "  I  am  going  to  my  room  for  a  moment, 
and  when  I  return  I  will  explain  everything." 

What  could  he  be  about  to  reveal  ?  Bessie  felt  a 
vague  fear  of  this  prestidigitateur.  She  wished  he 


A    LITTLE    SLEIGHT-OF-HAND.  345 

had  found  some  way  to  avoid  the  exhibition  he  was 
giving. 

"  Now,"  he  said,  as  he  returned,  with  several  gar- 
ments on  his  arm,  "  let  us  compare,  for  instance,  the 
clothing  worn  by  these  brothers.  The  coat  worn  by 
Frank  you  are  familiar  with,  and  if  not  I  have  it  on 
at  this  instant,  and  you  can  examine  it  with  all  the 
care  you  please.  The  coat  worn  by  Clyde  was  like 
this  one  that  I  have  brought.  I  found  it  in  his 
closet.  It  is,  as  you  see,  black.  Suppose  I  put  it 
on." 

In  a  twinkling  he  had  taken  off  his  coat  and 
donned  the  black  one. 

"  Even  in  the  matter  of  cravats  these  brothers  dif- 
fered widely,"  he  went  on  to  say,  still  assuming  the 
tone  of  a  public  performer.  "  Frank  wore  one  like 
this.  Clyde,"  he  stopped  to  remove  it  and  substi- 
tute a  plain  black  bow,  "usually  affected  something 
in  this  style." 

She  looked  so  startled  at  the  change  in  him  that 
he  put  an  arm  around  her  and  pressed  her  gently  to 
his  heart. 

"There  is  only  a  little  more,  my  darling,"  he  said, 
speaking  rapidly.  "  Frank  had  the  brighter  com- 
plexion. But  he  did  not  always  look  as  he  does 
now.  Sometimes  after  he  reached  his  room  at  night 
he  used  to  take  a  sponge — like  this — and  a  little 
mixture  (like  this,)  and  pass  it  over  his  face.  As 
you  will  soon  see,  it  left  him  nearly  as  pale  as  his 
brother." 

Standing  in  front  of  the  mirror  he  suited  the  action 
to  the  word,  and  in  a  moment  Frank  Morley  wore 
the  pale  features  that  were  such  a  distinguishing 
mark  of  Clyde.  Bessie  saw  him  with  consternation. 


244  AN   ORIGINAL   SINNER., 

The  man  she  loved  seemed  to  be  "disappearing  into 
space. 

"Then,"  said  Frank  slowly,  "  there  was  the  mous- 
tache. Had  Frank  Morley  shaved  his  moustache 
you  would  hardly  have  been  able  to  to  tell- him  from 
his  brother.  But  as  the  brothers  frequently  appeared 
in  the  same  places  within  one  or  two  days  of  each 
other,  and  as  it  takes  time  for  ordinary  moustaches 
to  grow,  Frank  had  procured  one  that  would  lengthen 
to  ordinary  size  in  an  incredibly  short  time.  Should 
he  have  wished  to  pass  for  his  brother — for  any 
reason — he  could  have  taken  his  moustache  off  in  a 
second.  When  he  was  through  with  his  personation 
he  could  put  it  on  again  just  as  quickly.  Shall  I 
show  you  ?" 

He  raised  his  hand  to  his  upper  lip,  but  Bessie 
held  out  her  arms  to  him.  She  felt  that  she  must 
hold  him  once  more  to  her  breast  before  he  quite 
disappeared.  Her  face  was  as  pale  now  as  his  and 
her  breath  came  fitfully.  He  sat  down  beside  her 
and  pressed  a  hundred  kisses  on  her  lips. 

"They  will  be  the  same,  dear,  without  the 
moustache  as  with  them,"  he  whispered.  "  It  is  still 
Frank  who  holds  you  in  his  arms,  my  darling.  Let 
me  finish  the  entertainment,  as  it  is  almost  ended." 

The  moustache  was  gone.  A  man  with  bare  upper 
lip  was  kissing  her,  and  she  was  betrayed  into  utter- 
ing a  little  scream  of  fear. 

He  leaned  back  in  his  chair  and  laughed  to  reas- 
sure her. 

"  What  a  thing  it  is  to  think  of,"  he  cried,  "  that  a 
little  color,  and  a  bit  of  hair,  and  a  coat  and  necktie 
could  so  alter  a  man  that  his  sweetheart  shrinks 
from  him  as  if  he  were  a  stranger !  Those  little 


A    LITTLE    SLEIGHT-OF-HAND.  345 

things  are  gone,  it  is  true,  but  the  man  you  have 
promised  to  wed  is  still  with  you." 

Bessie's  fears  were  soon  banished  under  the  in- 
fluence of  his  embraces,  but  she  began  to  protest  that 
she  should  have  to  tie  a  string  to  him  for  identifica- 
tion, lest  in  some  hapless  hour  she  might  follow  his 
brother,  to  the  altar  instead  of  him. 

"There  is  absolutely  nothing  to  distinguish  you 
from  each  other,"  she  said. 

"  How  odd  it  is  that  you  should  continue  to  love 
me"  he  replied,  "when  Clyde  made  not  the  least 
impression  upon  you  !" 

He  enjoyed  the  confusion  into  which  this  remark 
threw  her. 

"Oh, put  the  moustache  on  again  !"  she  exclaimed, 
presently.  "  Get  out  your  bottle  of  rouge  and  change 
your  coat  and  tie.  I'm  sure  I  like  you  much  better 
the  other  way." 

"  I'll  have  to  do  it  for  the  present,  at  least,"  he 
answered,  "  to  avoid  talk  from  other  people.  But, 
with  your  permission,  I  shall  let  my  natural  mous- 
tache grow,  as  soon — as  soon  as  we  start  on  our 
wedding-trip.  The  color  I  hope  will  come  in  time, 
though  the  Morleys  are  not  a  ruddy  race.  And 
now,  dear,  do  you  think  you  understand  the  riddle  I 
have  read  to  you  ?" 

She  shook  her  head  doubtfully. 

"  Well,  prepare  for  another  shock,  then.  I  thought 
you  would  guess  it.  Clyde  and  Frank  Morley  are — " 

It  came  to  her  like  a  stroke  of  lightning. 

"  Are — one  /"  she  gasped. 

"  Exactly.  My  name  is  Clyde  Frank  Morley.  I 
have  been  dividing  myself  into  two  parts  for  reasons 
which  are  now  at  an  end.  Henceforth  there  will  be 


346  AN   ORIGINAL   SINNER. 

but  one  of  me.     And  as  Clyde  is  the  one  my  Bessie 
can  spare  best  he  shall  be  the  one  to  disappear." 

Then  she  wanted  to  know  so  many  things  that  he 
found  it  hard  to  answer  her  questions.  When  she 
spoke  of  Lettie  he  grew  sober,  and  begged  that  she 
leave  that  name  out  of  their  discussions  for  all  time. 
There  had  been  two  elements  in  his  nature  that  had 
warred  with  each  other,  but  the  struggle  was  ended 
And  she  believed  him  and  trusted  him,  and  the  hap- 
piest hour  of  their  lives  up  to  that  point  came  to 
them  both. 

But  there  were  happier  hours  still  in  store  for  these 
lovers,  for  the  truest  of  true  unions  followed.  Frank 
was  admitted  to  the  bar  of  Suffolk  county  and  is 
making  himself  a  name  among  the  attorneys  in  the 
capital  of  Massachusetts.  His  conscientious  scruples 
lead  him  to  take  only  such  cases  as  he  believes  just, 
and  his  services  are  frequently  given  free  of  charge 
to  help  the  right  or  secure  justice  for  the  poor.  He 
has  never  regretted  his  decision  to  live  a  true  life 
instead  of  preaching  it.  With  his  contented  home 
there  has  come  back  to  him  the  full  measure  of  that 
health  and  strength  which  he  used  to  fear,  and  two 
little  copies  of  himself  and  Bessie  play  about  his 
rooms. 

We  must  not  forget  Charlie  Wilkins,  to  whom 
Frank  always  felt  grateful  for  the  part  he  played  on 
an  important  occasion.  Charlie's  next  attack  of  the 
tender  passion,  after  he  recovered  from  his  love  for 
Miss  Bright  (which  took  him  two  months)  was  on 
account  of  a  pretty  girl  from  the  Province  of  New 
Brunswick,  whom  he  happened  to  meet  when  she 
was  officiating  as  parlor-maid  at  the  house  of  a  friend 
of  his.  So  badly  smitten  was  he  that  he  resolved  to 


A   LITTLE    BLEIGHT-OF-UAJJD.  ux« 

ignore  entirely  the  opinion  of  Mr.  Silas  Clarke— 
whether  it  was  for  or  against  the  match — and  he 
went  boldly  to  the  young  woman  and  made  his  pro- 
posal. Not  unnaturally  her  indignation  was  excited 
for  the  moment,  as  she  had  no  doubt  he  was  impos- 
ing upon  her,  for  she  knew  he  was  a  man  of  wealth. 
But  when  he  insisted  that  he  was  in  earnest  she 
yielded,  and  the  day  was  set.  Wilkins  kept  the  secret 
carefully,  lest  Clarke  should  manage  in  some  way  to 
intercept  him  on  his  way  to  the  clergyman's,  only 
mentioning  it  to  the  young  man  from  the  leather 
house  on  High  street,  whom  he  wanted  as  a  witness. 

When  Clarke  learned  of  the  marriage  he  was  in  a 
state  of  rage.  He  told  Wilkins  that  every  one  of  his 
children  would  have  noses  of  the  very  brightest 
blue,  such  as  no  chemical  preparation  could  take  off. 
But  Mrs.  Wilkins,  who  was  really  a  sensible  girl,  and 
whose  family  stood  very  well  indeed  in  her  native 
town,  convinced  Charlie  that  this  prediction  was  the 
result  of  envy  and  proved  it  later  by  giving  him  one 
of  the  loveliest  little  daughters  ever  seen.  This 
settled  the  fate  of  Clarke  as  a  prophet  in  the  mind  of 
the  man  he  had  imposed  on  for  so  long,  and  finding 
that  he  could  not  borrow  any  more  money  of  his 
long-time  banker,  he  le£t  for  parts  unknown  and  has 
never  been  heard  of  since. 

Dr.  Melton  has  been  to  Boston  and  called  on  the 
Morleys.  He  declares  that  Bessie  must  have  dis- 
covered a  cure  for  Frank's  ailments  better  than  any- 
thing to  be  found  in  the  materia  medica.  He 
wonders  what  has  become  of  Clyde,  who  seems  to 
have  disappeared  for  good  this  time,  and  expresse» 
a  fear  that  the  unhappy  man  never  recovered  from 
the  troubles  that  afflicted  him.  This  view  is  thought- 


348  AN   ORIGINAL  8INNEB. 

fully  shared  by  Frank,  who  says  he  never  expects  to 
hear  from  his  brother  again. 

But  on  a  recent  visit  the  Doctor  had  a  great  secret 
to  tell,  that  he  could  not  keep  to  himself,  and  he 
whispered  it  to  Frank  while  holding  baby  Bessie  on 
his  knee.  It  would  not  be  long  now,  he  said,  before 
such  an  advent  would  gladden  his  own  household. 
Lettie  was  soon  to  become  a  mother  ! 

Frank  was  very  glad  to  hear  that ;  more  pleased 
than  Dr.  Melton  could  have  imagined.  He  had 
passed  many  a  pensive  hour  thinking  of  what  might 
be  the  fate  of  that  impulsive  woman,  tor  whose  mar- 
riage he  felt  so  great  a  blame.  But  now  it  would 
be  all  right.  Baby  hands  would  draw  the  father  and 
mother  closer. 

"There  must  have  been  another  key,"  he  mused, 
audibly,  after  the  doctor  had  gone. 


TXE  1JJB. 


THE  POPULAR  NOVELS 

OF 

MAY  AGNES  FLEMING 


THE  ACTRESS'  NORINE'S  REVENGE. 

DAUGHTER,  PRIDE  AND  PASSION. 

A  CHANGED  HEART.  QUEEN  OF  THE  ISLE. 

EDITH  PERCTVAL.  SHARING  HER  CRIME. 

A  FATEFUL  ABDUC-  THE   SISTERS  OF 

TION.  TORWOOD. 

MAUDE  PERCY'S  vVEDDED  FOR  PIQUE. 

SECRET.  A  WIFE'S  TRAGEDY. 

THE  MIDNIGHT  QUEEN.  A  WRONGED  WIFE. 


Mrs.  Fleming's  stories  have  always  been  extremely  popular. 
Their  delineations  of  character,  lifelife  conversations,  the 
flashes  of  wit,  their  constantly  varying  scenes  and  deeply 
interesting  plots  combine  to  place  their  author  in  an  enviable 
position,  which  is  still  maintained  despite  the  tremendous 
onrush  of  modern  novelists.  No  more  brilliant  or  stirring 
novels  than  hers  have  ever  been  published,  and,  strange  as  ft 
may  seem,  the  seeker  after  romance  today  reads  these  books 
as  eagerly  as  did  our  mothers  when  they  fest  appeared. 


All  published  uniform,   cloth  bound.     Price,  SO 

cents  each,  and  seat  FREE  by  mail, 

oa  receipt  of  price  by 

G.  W.  DILUNGHAM  COMPANY 

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THE  CHARMING  NOVELS 


OF 


JULIE  P.  SMITH 


BLOSSOM  BUD. 
COURTING  AND  FARM- 
ING. 

KISS  AND  BE  FRIENDS. 
THE  MARRIED  BELLE. 
THE  WIDOWER. 


CHRIS  AND  OTHO. 
HIS  YOUNG  WIFE. 
LUCY. 

TEN  OLD  MAIDS. 
WIDOW  GOLDSMITH'S 
DAUGHTER. 


Julie  P.  Smith's  books  are  of  unusual  merit,  uncommonly 
well  written,  cleverly  developed  and  characterized  by  great 
wit  and  vivacity.  They  have  been  extremely  popular,  and 
they  still  retain  to  a  greatjdegree  their  former  power  to  charm. 
Her  pictures  of  farm  life  and  of  rural  conditions  are  wholesome 
and  finely  done.  The  human  interest  is  never  lacking  from 
lier  stories. 


AH  published  uniform,  cloth  bound.     Price,  SO 
cents  each,  and  sent  FREE  by  mail, 
on  receipt  of  price  by 


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THE  FASCINATING  NOVELS 


OF 


Celia  E.  Gardner 


BROKEN  DREAMS  (In  verse).  TESTED. 
COMPENSATION  (In  verse).      TERRACE  ROSES. 
HER  LAST  LOVER.  TWISTED     SKEIN     (In 

RICH  MEDWAY'S  TWO  verse). 

LOVES.  A  WOMAN'S  WILES. 

STOLEN  WATERS  (In  verse).     WON  UNDER  PROTEST. 


These  stories  Me  as  far  removed  from  the  sensational  as 
possible,  yet  in  matter  as  well  as  style,  they  possess  a  fascin- 
ation all  their  own.  The  author  makes  a  specialty  of  the 
•tudy  of  a  woman's  heart.  Their  tone  and  atmosphere  are 
high;  the  characterizations  good;  the  dialogue  bright  and 
natural.  Her  books  have  had  an  enormous  sale. 


12  mo.     Cloth  bound.    Price,  SO  cents 

each,  and  gent  FREE  by  mall,  on 

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MARY  J.°' HOLMES 

The  name  of  Mary  J.  Holmes  is  a  household  word 
to  millions  of  readers.  All  her  stories  glow  with  the 
same  love  of  outdoor  nature  and  purity  of  motive  and 
expression.  Her  books  have  sold  in  greater  numbers 
than  almost  any  other  American  novelist — in  fact  her 
stories  have  been  universally  read  and  her  admirers  are 
numberless.  For  many  years  she  stood  without  a  rival 
in  fiction.  Her  characters  are  always  life-like  and  she 
makes  them  talk  and  act  like  human  beings,  subject  to 
the  same  emotions,  swayed  by  the  same  passions,  and 
actuated  by  the  same  motives  that  are  common  among 
men  and  women  of  everyday  existence. 

Abandoned  Farm,  The  Kitty  Craig 

Bessie's  Fortune  Lena  Rivers 

Cameron  Pride,  The  Madeline 

Chateau  D'Or  Maggie  Miller 

Connie's  Mistake  Marguerite 

Cousin  Maude  Marian  Grey 

Cromptons,  The  Meadow  Brook 

Daisy  Thornton  Merival*  Banks,  The 

Darkness  and  Daylight  Mildred 

Dr.  Hathern's  Daughters  Mildred's  Ambition 

Dora  Deane  Millbank 

Edith  Lyle  Mrs.  Haliam's  Companion 

Edna  Browning  Paul  Raleton 

English  Orphans,  The  Queenie  Hethertcn 

Ethelyn's  Mistake  Rena's  Experiment 

Forrest  House  Rosamond 

Gretchen  Rose  Mather 

Homestead  on  the  Hillside  Tempest  and  Sunshine 

Hugh  Worthington  Tracy  Diamonds,  The 

Jessie  Graham  West  Lawn 

40  Volumes.       THE  ONLY  COMPLETE  EDITION 

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000  114892 


